15

At breakfast, Alison tried not to show any ill effects from her bout with the burglar. A bout, from the throbbing of her head, she’d lost. Stephen had insisted she go to the emergency room last night when he and Val returned with the children. X-rays revealed she’d sustained no concussion.

Val hadn’t been pleased with this latest turn of events and Alison’s brush with danger. “Maybe this will knock some sense into that hard head of yours.”

The children had been nervous, so she hadn’t protested when Stephen decided to spend the night on the couch in the family room. She’d kept the driver, dusty with powder from the fingerprint kit, beside her bed. Stephen dashed out the door at 7 a.m.—an English muffin between his teeth—for an early morning angioplasty at Rex Hospital.

Somehow, the burglary managed to make the early edition. Front-page headlines. She groaned before stuffing the entire newspaper into the recycling bin.

“You better take a look at this, Mom.” A Facebook page glimmered from Justin’s laptop on her kitchen desk.

Claire leaned over his shoulder, gasped, and closed her eyes.

“What is—?” Peering past Claire, she saw snapshots of their house cordoned off by rolls of yellow crime scene tape. A host of blue and white police cruisers surrounded their property. The photos posted to every FB friend Justin and Claire possessed incorporated the catchy title “Murder at the Monaghans. Again?”

Alison clenched her fist. “Who took these pictures?”

Claire’s eyes widened. “Who would want to humiliate Justin and me at school?”

Alison had thought—hoped—that the media sensation had died a natural death. She winced. Bad comparison.

Who was trying to make her life and her children’s so difficult? And why now? Was the new job worth this renewed scrutiny?

Grim, but determined, summed up the overriding mood at the Monaghans. It was back to school for Claire and Justin after spring break, and now both were clearly dreading the encounter with their peers. Over the break, Justin had been in touch with many in his circle of friends through Redeemer. But Claire, the cheerleader, the darling of the high-school hierarchy, had yet to hear from any of her so-called best friends who’d dropped her one by one over the last months.

Today, Claire wore more eyeliner and blush than usual. Alison supposed it was her way of putting on a brave face. Justin hunched over his cereal, slowly chewing each bite, as if by drawing out the meal he could postpone the inevitable reckoning at school.

“I’ll drop you guys off on my way to Weathersby this morning.” She took a steadying sip of her coffee, her version of Dutch courage. The liquid warmth with its caffeine jolt trickled through her veins.

Claire cut her eyes at Alison. “I thought you didn’t have to start work till nine o’clock?”

“I want to get there early on my first day to check out my responsibilities.”

Claire pursed her lips. “You mean you want to get a jump start on grilling the suspects.” She went back to her methodical buttering of her toast, row-by-row, stroke by stroke.

“Now, Mom . . .” Justin shook his head. “Remember what Mike said.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” She took another sip of coffee. “I’m just going to nose around and get a sense of who knew Dad and if anyone had a grudge against him.”

“A grudge?” Claire snorted. “Is that what you call what happened to him? What happened to you last night? What—?”

“I told you I’d be careful.” She pressed a hand to the back of her head, the pain becoming acute. “I’ll be home around five o’clock. Do you think you can walk home from school?”

Justin carried his bowl and glass over to the sink. “Sure we can. We’ve done it before lots of times.”

“Any after-school activities or will you be home by 3:30 at the latest?”

Claire followed Justin, frowning. “At least cheerleading is over for the year or it’d be more torture having to explain ad infinitum about . . .” She gestured toward the laptop.

Ad infinitum. It always had to be the last, and biggest, word with Claire.

Rinsing out her cup, Alison called up the stairs as the children went to brush their teeth. “Your transportation—that would be me—rolls out in ten minutes. Be there. Don’t make me late my first day of work.”

She brushed her hands down the length of her skirt. She’d chosen a soft denim twill skirt and a butter yellow crinkle top. It’d been years, after Claire’s birth, since she’d worked part-time as a horticulturalist with a local nursery. She hoped her business and people skills weren’t too rusty. Like her children, she was anxious about what the day would bring.

She ran up the stairs to finish her own morning preparations. In the bathroom mirror, her gold bangle earrings continued to sway from her forward momentum. She stared at herself in the glass and took a few deep breaths.

I’m so afraid, Father.

She closed her eyes and willed her heart to a steady beat.

I need you today more than ever. I pray for Claire and Justin as they face their own trials. And don’t let me do anything stupid.

Taking one last look in the mirror, she whispered, “Courage.”

She grabbed her keys, cell phone, and purse. “I’m leaving now,” she threatened, calling down the hallway toward the direction of Claire and Justin’s rooms. But when she came down the back stairs, Justin and Claire were waiting for her by the garage door.

She paused to pick up her Bible and stuffed it into her handbag. “Everything but the kitchen sink,” she joked.

On a sudden impulse, she gave each of her children the bear hug she used to give them on the first day of elementary school. Neither pulled away.

“Seriously, Mom,” whispered Claire into her ear. “Watch yourself today.”

Alison nodded. “I will. I’ll be praying for you both. I know it’s not going to be easy, but it will get better.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Like when?”

Her daughter shouldered her backpack. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll handle it.”

Tears welled in Alison’s eyes, the culmination of a long night and aching head. “Thanks, honey.”

If it wasn’t God working on Claire, then she didn’t know what would account for the attitude reversal in the previously rebellious, mouthy child Claire had been since adolescence.

She’d missed that sunny-natured, butterfly-kissing little girl with the auburn ringlets. But maybe, in God’s timing, she and Claire could reconnect. She was discovering God was all about hope. And she needed a lot of that commodity, especially today.

Alison squared her shoulders. “Okay, guys. Let’s do this.”

Claire snagged the coveted front passenger seat. “For Daddy.”

Justin scrambled into the backseat. “For Dad.” Then he tuned them both out by putting in earbuds and turning on his iPod.

Alison glanced at him in the rearview mirror. Everybody, she reflected, had his or her own brand of Dutch courage.