It felt good to be home. Matthew pulled into his own driveway, shut off the car, felt the strain of the recent days slide away. His own bed tonight, his own coffee mug, that same faucet drip in his bathroom. Photos of Becky, stacks of mail to sift through, the flower bed’s weeds calling for attention. He’d gladly deal with all of it, for here were the memories and belongings of the last two decades of his life.
He glanced at Shannon and saw she was still asleep. She wasn’t a good air traveler. She’d taken the recommended medication to prevent vertigo, clung to his hand in nervous tension through most of the flight, then promptly closed her eyes and went out like a light when finally she was safely back in a car and able to let go of the stress. It seemed like the flight had worn her out at least as much as visiting the farm.
He stepped out of the car and softly closed the door so as not to wake her. He walked up to the house and unlocked it, walked through the rooms switching on lights, adjusting the air-conditioning to take the edge off the late afternoon’s warmth. It had been some time since guests other than one of Becky’s friends had visited. He hadn’t exactly cleaned house before leaving for the conference. Things were neat, but the laundry wasn’t done, the kitchen floor needed mopping, and fishing tackle lay spread out on the dining room table.
He checked Becky’s room. She’d suggested Shannon use hers instead of the guest room, as there were locks on the inside of the door, the safety blanket of sorts his daughter had needed those first few years. He’d remade the bed when he last did laundry, so the sheets were clean. He set out fresh towels in the adjoining bathroom, turned on the bedside lamp, and changed the radio station to one with softer music than his daughter’s taste. The posters on the walls and collectibles on every surface definitely said “Becky,” but the room was clearly female, soft and lacy. Shannon would be comfortable here for a couple of days.
He walked back outside. Shannon was still sleeping. He eased open the passenger door, hunkered down beside her. “Can I convince you to wake up from that dream you’re enjoying?” He didn’t reach across to unclip the seat belt—waking her by surprise would likely get him a fist thrown or an elbow in the eye. Instead he talked, amused at her deep slumber, and waited until she began to stir. The sleepy eyes that met his were so exhausted it was like looking down a dark, bottomless well. “Hey, lady.” He gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Welcome to my home.”
She looked past him toward the house, sighed, and closed her eyes again. “Nice place.”
He waited some more.
“I think I want to just relax here for a month or two. The travel is finally over, most of the list done,” she whispered.
“Yeah. Mostly.” He reached across to unfasten the seat belt. “Food, then you can sleep as long as you want.”
She managed a small smile. “Heaven.” Reluctantly she swung her feet around and stood. She looked at the neighborhood as they slowly walked to the front door. “Is Becky home to meet you?”
He heard the hesitation. “No, her car would have been in the drive,” he replied.
“I don’t want to intrude on a homecoming. I can stay at a hotel.”
That idea wouldn’t be going anywhere. He wanted her somewhere he knew how she was doing and what was happening. “There’s no need. I’m going to enjoy introducing you to Becky, but the timing might not work out on this trip. There will be other visits.” He held the front door for her.
She stepped inside, looked around the entryway, into the living room. “Has it changed much since Jessica died?”
Matthew understood the question, and the reason for it. “You’re meeting Jessica in this place as well as my daughter. This has been the family home since we first married.”
“She had lovely taste.”
He smiled. “She did.” He led her through the dining room and into the kitchen, pointed to the stool where Becky often perched to watch him work. “Sit. I’m fixing us a nice dinner. You’re going to be lazy.”
He saw the start of a smile. “I can do that.”
He talked about Boston while he worked on a stir-fry with fixings from the freezer, got her laughing about his marathon experiences, asked her to thumb through the stack of newspapers to give him the front-page highlights while they waited for the rice to finish cooking. This city had its charms, and if she didn’t want to stay in the Midwest, it would be a good place for her to settle for the summer. Florida, though, always appealed to him come mid-December.
They talked about sailing as they ate dinner—she was willing to go out should it work into the schedule—and she asked him about his work, what he did around Boston for his clients. As they talked, she ate, and he was pleased to see her appetite returning. “We’re going to have our dessert out on the back deck—it’s lovely weather, and the summer bugs aren’t out yet in droves,” he told her. “While I pick up the kitchen and figure out what we’re having for that dessert, why don’t you wander around, get acquainted with the house and where everything is—nothing’s off-limits—and then join me on the deck. You’ll rest easier knowing the layout. My daughter makes art—string-and-fabric kinds of wall hangings. She describes them better than I do, but I can tell they’re pretty. Second room on the right is yours. I put your gym bag beside the bed.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Shannon said.
While she looked around the place, Matthew cleaned up the kitchen, chose a container of frozen chocolate mousse for dessert, and took a knife with him as well as plates and forks out to the deck. She wouldn’t need to hurry, and it would be easier to cut if it sat out for a while.
Shannon eventually came out holding a bottle of soda, leaned against the wood railing, looked toward the sun that was beginning to disappear into the horizon. He saw she’d removed her shoes somewhere along the way. “Sunset will be about eight o’clock tonight,” he told her. “There’s rain in the forecast, so it may have deep-red streaks if that cloud bank cooperates.”
“You talk a lot about the weather.”
He smiled. “Want me to stop?”
“No. I like knowing, and I enjoy the sound of your voice. And I realize it’s probably the only topic that doesn’t end up somewhere you can’t predict.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve noticed” was his dry comment as he cut the dessert into wedges. He passed her a plate. “It tastes better than it looks.”
She grinned. “I’ve heard you say that before when you handed me a plate. I’m sure it tastes wonderful.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
They ate the mousse in comfortable silence. He was accustomed to his daughter chattering through a meal, whatever she was thinking spilling out as she skipped from topic to topic. Even when she’d been feeling miserable in those first days, Becky had come to the dinner table dragging a box of Kleenex, talking between tears about how awful the dreams were, while she tried to do justice to the meal. His daughter had processed things by talking, only occasionally in that process requiring his input. She’d just needed someone to listen.
He would grow accustomed to Shannon’s preference for silence, even while he wondered how much that silence was learned behavior over eleven years. He suspected she would become naturally more open as time went on.
A breeze kicked up, and he caught the faint scent of the ocean on the wind. “Want to watch a baseball game with me tonight?”
“Sure,” she replied with a smile, “until I fall asleep out of simple boredom.”
He chuckled. “Whatever works to get you some rest.”
“I like your home. It’s peaceful here,” she noted as she stood and began collecting their dishes.
“The hedges hide the fact the neighbors are within touching distance,” he said.
“I noticed. It’s like that for too much of the East Coast.” She turned toward the kitchen with the dishes. “I’ll see if I can find a game,” she offered.
When he joined her again, she was stretched out on the couch, watching a Red Sox game. He took the leather chair on the opposite side of the room—his chair, with his things piled around it and on the table beside it. The other chair near his was where his daughter liked to hang out, her legs draped over the arm, stealing his popcorn and flipping a quarter between shows to see who got to have the remote next.
The first four innings passed without either of them speaking. He got up at the bottom of the fifth and handed her the fuzzy throw his daughter used, went into the kitchen and returned with a handful of cheese cubes and crackers from the before-dinner snack tray, also carrying another soda for himself. She stirred in the seventh inning, disappeared into the kitchen, came back with an iced tea and a handful of the crackers. She settled back on the couch as the game tied up one to one. It stayed there into the bottom of the ninth and moved on to extra innings. He thought about telling her there was a TV in Becky’s room if she wanted to finish the game there, but she seemed to have caught her second wind—relaxed, legs drawn up under her, eyes on the game, occasionally glancing around the room, at times lost in thought. Rarely did he catch her looking toward him. She wasn’t avoiding him but wasn’t paying much attention to him either.
Her phone rang, catching them both off guard. She hadn’t given the number to Jeffery yet. Charlotte had the number but had called only twice. Shannon pulled it out of her pocket. “It’s Becky,” she said with surprise, reading the caller ID.
“I gave her your number,” Matthew said. “Go ahead and answer it, say hi. She’ll do the rest.”
Shannon took the phone with her and stepped into the kitchen. “Hi, Becky. Yes, it’s Shannon.”
Matthew grinned when she said very little for a very long time.
Shannon came back into the living room, hands hugging her arms, looking rather dazed in a good way. Matthew didn’t need any explanation to interpret that look. “She’s twenty and you’re here,” he said, figuring that would explain the conversation.
“I think I got in a ‘yes’ twice. She asked if I liked you, and could I remember to fix your coffee with the cheap coffee beans because you didn’t like the expensive coffee she’d bought you for your birthday. You don’t like good coffee?”
“Blame it on all those years drinking bad coffee on the job. My daughter likes to talk.”
“No. She just hides her nerves in talking. Why do I make her nervous?”
He laughed. “To repeat, she’s twenty and you are here with her father. You’re the first woman to ever stay in this home since her mother died.”
“I really should stay at a hotel.”
“No, not a good idea.”
“She’ll think—” Shannon stopped. “No, she won’t think that. She knows you, and she certainly knows this situation. So what’s she nervous about?”
“I promised I’d find a woman I could like and she could like. It was kind of our pact—she goes off to college while I deal with the empty nest syndrome. You just showed up earlier than she thought I might deliver on my part of the deal.”
“What’s her part of the deal?”
Matthew wasn’t going to touch that question. “She can tell you one day.”
Shannon curled up again on the couch. “You and your daughter are eerily alike in some ways. Listening to her was like listening to a more animated version of you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Don’t worry, it’s a compliment.” The Red Sox second baseman managed to catch the edge of a misplaced fastball and drive it over the outfield wall for a home run, diverting their attention.
The stadium erupted in celebration and fireworks with the win. Matthew muted the volume, and they could hear the fireworks faintly outside. “A good game.”
“It was.” Shannon rose from the couch, stretched, gave him a little smile as she picked up her glass. “Since I now know where Becky keeps the really good bubble bath and all her nail-polish choices, I’m going to retreat and call it a night, and enjoy both.”
“Do that,” Matthew replied with a chuckle. “I have no plans for tomorrow, so be thinking about what you might like to do.”
“I’d love to see the ocean up close. Can you find us a relatively private beach?”
“I’ll show you a favorite stretch of sand,” he promised.
“Thanks . . . for everything. Good night, Matthew.”
“Night, Shannon.” She disappeared down the hall.
Matthew waited until he heard the door close before he got up from his chair, walked into the kitchen. Having Shannon Bliss in his home was a welcome addition, if only for a few days. He dialed Becky’s number. “So how are you tonight, Becky? Thanks for calling Shannon.”
He listened to his daughter chat about Shannon—she seemed nice—about how classes were going, and what her roommate had planned for them for the weekend. She could change her plans to come visit. “No need, Becky. We’ll be gone by the weekend. I’m thinking we’ll return to Chicago either Friday afternoon or Saturday morning, depending on which day has better weather for the flight.” He opened the freezer and set out steaks to thaw for tomorrow. “I’ll definitely be back here the next weekend for the Fourth of July holiday, so bring your roommate this way if you like. Shannon might come back then, depending on her plans. Her next big decision is going to be where she wants to settle for a while.”
Becky promptly included both her roommate and her new friend from English class for the weekend plans. “If you can man the grill, Dad, I’ll fix my award-winning seafood salad.”
“It’s a plan,” Matthew agreed easily. “Bring home whoever you like. There’s plenty of room.” Spectacular fireworks in Boston Harbor could be seen within walking distance of the house. “Anything you want me to do for you while I’m home?” He made a note to find her running shoes—she wanted to try out for track this year. “I’ll find them. Love you, honey. Call me tomorrow.”
Content that his daughter was doing well, Matthew glanced at the time, thought about turning in himself. But while he was trying hard to give Shannon a break with this brief trip, his own to-do list was growing. His first call was to Paul. “What’s the latest with the farm?”
“I’m surprised Shannon was able to walk that property and tell us what she did. So far, ground radar has indications of ten bodies: the five she was certain about, the two children she suspected, and three others she flagged for us to check. Has Shannon said anything else about their East Coast home base? I need a perimeter put in place on that property too.”
“No, but it’s on my urgent list. If she could put a finger down on the map, she’d already have done so. It’s going to require a field trip. And walking her into another place like the farm . . . I know it has to be done, but I’m swallowing hard at the thought of it. She looks fine, she’s coping, yet I’m afraid she might crack if one item too many slides into her day.”
“I know that worry and share it, but time is a factor. It can’t stretch out a week without damaging the credibility of the chain of custody for the evidence we might recover there.”
“I hear you,” Matthew agreed. “What’s the tip line look like tonight?”
“Some sightings in Colorado have our attention. The names and photos went public across the country at noon. I’ve got cops working the names Shannon wrote on the whiteboards—those the family did business with—so they’re not going to find many people out there willing to help them hide. I had Adam push the news conference up to D.C. so that he’d get better national coverage. He’ll brief again tomorrow morning on the recovered kids to keep the focus on those faces.”
“Good. I’ll try to keep Shannon from seeing that newscast.” Matthew changed the subject. “She located a batch of her journals from the later years today,” he said, holding back the information about Flynn’s cabin. “Seventeen diaries in all.”
“That’s going to be some difficult reading.”
The understatement was breathtaking. “Crushing,” he admitted, remembering the entries in the two he’d read. “It needs doing, though. If she mentions a vehicle they purchased, anything concrete that might help track them down, I’ll pass it on.”
“Thanks. Have you spoken with Jeffery today?”
“He’s my next call.”
“Theo got his first question from a reporter today, left on voicemail, asking if anything new was going on with the Shannon Bliss investigation. The press has noticed that Jeffery no longer mentions his sister at his campaign appearances. He’s shuffling his calendar to keep off the podium the rest of this week. The plan to make the news public on Monday is about as far as we can stretch it.”
“I can work with that. Shannon knows it’s coming.” Matthew checked the time. “Let me give Jeffery a call now. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, Paul. Call me if there’s any breaking news.”
“I’m hoping to have a reason to make that call,” Paul replied. “Take care of her.”
“My only priority,” he said before ending the call and dialing Jeffery’s number.
The coming days were getting blocked in. They would be back in Chicago to meet with her parents, Shannon would have one last peaceful visit with Jeffery, then it would be to tuck her somewhere private where the press couldn’t find her. As it became public and Jeffery entered a firestorm of questions about his sister’s return, she would need to be far away from it all.
Jeffery sounded ready for the press conference, Matthew was glad to learn, and he had a well-thought-out game plan for the evening with his parents. Matthew walked into the dining room after the call, pleased with how her brother was managing things.
The items he’d unloaded from the car had joined the fishing gear on the dining room table. Matthew sorted the journals from the footlocker by date. He picked up the oldest one and took it to the living room. He wanted a day away from this, needing the break almost as badly as Shannon did, but this case was now flowing in multiple directions. Understanding Shannon’s history was the most helpful thing he could do for her, for the investigation overall. He opened the diary and started reading.
He was nearing the end of it when he stopped, shut the book, closed his eyes and physically winced. The Fourth of July. Fireworks. Explosions. The smell of sulfur . . . The last place Shannon should be on that weekend was in Boston, its nationally televised extravagance of fireworks over the harbor, all within walking distance of the house. Her flashbacks of that shootout in the farmhouse kitchen were going to be intense. Even if she thought she was braced for the sounds, those explosive bursts, the sulfur odor that filled the air would put her back there in hard, sharp, vivid memories.
He had known a collision would inevitably come between what was best for his daughter and what he was doing to help Shannon. Being in Boston for the upcoming holiday weekend was the last place Shannon should be. He always celebrated the holiday with his daughter, had just confirmed he would be in town—a long-standing and important family tradition. There was no uncertainty about where he had to be: in Boston with Becky. So top of the list now, with very little time to address it, were arrangements for Shannon. This coming Monday, Jeffery would tell the nation that Shannon was alive, and the following Sunday was the Fourth.
She couldn’t spend that weekend with her brother—the entire national press would be camped out, watching Jeffery and her parents, hoping to capture their first glimpse of Shannon. She needed to be somewhere quiet, with safe people she trusted, where the press wasn’t going to look for her. And she wasn’t going to be with him. The shock he felt at that realization was eye-opening. He really didn’t want her out of his sight for any length of time. She’d more than just wrapped herself around his life; he’d wrapped his own days around helping her. So their separating was going to be rather painful.
Matthew pushed aside that thought and focused on the issue at hand. Fireworks were sporadic in the neighborhood after sundown as early as July second. Where could Shannon go that was sure to be both quiet and safe? He could rule out Boston. She couldn’t be in Chicago. And even his best planning couldn’t guarantee a firecracker wouldn’t be set off close enough to her to send her into a frightening flashback. So she needed someone with her who’d be able to manage the situation should one occur. This couldn’t be just anywhere, with anyone.
God, any ideas?
The spontaneous prayer came as he laid aside the discord he’d been carrying with him the last few days. What had happened to Shannon . . . God hadn’t intervened, at least in ways Matthew would have wished for, but she was now free, and the dark years were in the past. He didn’t understand God, but he didn’t want this impasse to continue. God was still God. Matthew turned back hard to the relationship he had depended on most in his life and felt the “welcome home” from his God—no rejection attached to it, just a loving acceptance.
His Father’s patience with him was extraordinarily kind and long-suffering, and these recent days provided a glimpse of that mercy once more. In the coming days he’d be ready for a long conversation with God about what had happened to Shannon, and he’d be able to put the grief he felt into words without the bitter anger that had nestled itself inside. But that conversation wouldn’t be tonight. There was a more pressing concern to talk with God about. What arrangements do I make for her? I can see the crisis coming, and I’ve got a week to put the details of a plan in place. But where should I start? What might work?
He ran ideas around in his mind—a place in the countryside, music turned up loud—but couldn’t decide who would be with her or where that would be. He looked at his watch. It was too late to call someone. He tucked the problem into the back of his mind to mull over, picked up Shannon’s diary again.
When he was finished reading, he went into the dining room and got the next one, determined to make it through at least a couple of them tonight. Shannon knew how to deal with hard days—that’s what these journals told him more than anything else. A hardened, do-what-was-necessary, stubborn survivor whose true personality was still showing on these pages. He could see even in the handwriting how hard-fought it had been for her to keep her balance and not give up on that rugged optimism.
He couldn’t concentrate. He looked at the time once again, computed the time zones, and made a call. “Paul, I need to talk with your wife about Shannon.”
“Yeah,” the man sighed, clearly having been asleep. “Hold on.” The phone shifted. “Matthew, for you.”
“What’s going on?” Ann sounded wide awake, which she probably had been at this time of night. She’d always preferred working nights.
“A serious problem on the calendar. The Fourth of July. I’m going to be in Boston with my daughter. And Boston is the very last place Shannon should be.”
Ann was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I see the problem. I’m remembering the fireworks during our one memorable date in Boston,” she recalled, her smile apparent in her voice.
“A nice evening,” he said with an answering smile. “The press is going to be staking out Shannon’s family after the announcement. We could try to sneak her brother and his wife out somewhere, but where? It’s also one of the biggest campaign weekends of the year, and Jeffery needs to spend a good part of it with the crowds. It’s not like we can get him out of Chicago.”
“Shannon can’t spend the holiday with her brother,” Ann agreed. “Her parents for the same reasons, and she can’t spend it with you in Boston. Paul and I are hosting about forty of the Falcon family. She’s welcome to join us, but we’re downtown Chicago with fireworks going off over the lake.”
“Where would you put her under ideal circumstances?”
“Canada, since they don’t celebrate this holiday.”
He laughed. “If I had time to get her a passport under her legal name, that might be just the ticket. Next best option?”
“Underground would deaden any chance of a surprise firecracker. I hear those tourists caves in Missouri are interesting.”
“You’re reaching, Ann, but then I’ve been too.”
“Okay, more realistic. Close the windows, turn up the music—you want someone with a good home theater, preferably a soundproof room with comfortable seating. Plan a marathon of movies to get her to about four a.m. when the fireworks finally quit.”
“That’s actually the beginnings of an answer. Who with, and where? It’s got to be someone able to handle a flashback.”
“Rachel mentioned Sandy Post to you as a possible doctor?” Ann asked.
“Yes.”
“I know Sandy’s busiest weekend is this one, helping her patients get through the sounds and smells and crowds of the holiday, so it couldn’t be her. In a pinch, I think Rachel is the one you want. Cole will be working the three-day weekend—the Fourth of July is arson duty on steroids—so give Rachel a call. She may not have anything scheduled for the weekend. She’s incredibly good at dealing with traumatic memories in kids, so she could probably help Shannon. For where—give John a call. See if he and Ellie are planning to be up at Shadow Lake for the weekend or if they’re going to stay in Chicago. Shadow Lake is about a five-hour drive north. It’s just enough rural it won’t have a town’s fireworks display nearby. There’s decent surround sound and a big screen they put in when they remodeled Ellie’s place, so that John could watch his ball games in comfort. Take along a lot of DVDs, and Shannon and Rachel can make a weekend of it.”
Matthew was making notes. “I’ll make the calls first thing in the morning. It’s a workable backstop, Ann.”
“Mention the matter to Charlotte as well. She’s not a big fireworks fan for her own reasons. Bryce and Charlotte driving up to Shadow Lake for the weekend is a pretty common occurrence. Rachel and Shannon staying at Ellie’s place, Charlotte and Bryce staying at John’s—you’ve got a custom-made safe group to keep Shannon company.”
Matthew smiled. “Not as nice as being there myself, but she would know people and be in good company.”
“Problem solved,” Ann agreed. There was a pause. “It’s going to be hard for you to say goodbye when she doesn’t need you in a month or so,” she said quietly.
“I know. I realized tonight how acute it will feel. I’ll be okay with it, Ann. As nice as it has been getting to know her, helping her navigate what needs to be done, I’m actually surprised we’re into week two.”
“She didn’t want to do this alone. That’s why she searched out and found you.”
“And I’m more grateful for that with each passing day. It’s nice to be needed.” He looked at his notes. “Thanks for the ideas. I’ll make some calls in the morning.”
“Let me know if you need to brainstorm further. Oh, and tell Shannon if she wants to do me a serious favor, would she mind taking Black with her? My dog hates fireworks with a passion. Getting him out of Chicago for that weekend would be giving him a major vacation. And me a good deal of peace of mind.”
Matthew laughed. “Yeah, I can see that. I’ll mention it to her. Tell Paul thanks for letting me interrupt your evening.”
“He likes that you call him even when you just need to pass off to me . . . just saying. It’s classy of you.”
“He got the ring on your finger. He’s your guy. It’s only right he knows when and why I’m taking up your time.”
“Yeah. Like I said . . . it’s nice of you. Say hi to Shannon for me.”
“I will. Thanks, Ann.”
He ended the call, thoughtful. He hadn’t realized Ann had picked up on it, but she was right. When he could, he spoke first with Paul before he contacted Ann. They were a couple, and he’d shifted how he interacted with her to reflect that.