Page 14 of Death in the New Year

“Good,” she nodded. “That’s better. You seem like a fine young man, and I know you got a good heart, or you wouldn’t be here. We just can’t judge someone else when we don’t know their story. See, he didn’t just lose his wife and four children. Two of those children were in wheelchairs. Some sorta muscular dystrophy. They adopted them from Ukraine or somewhere over there. Beautiful children, and he loved them like they were his own.”

“Damn,” muttered Wilson. “What can I do to help him?”

“Look him in the eyes and talk to him. Acknowledge that he’s alive and here. The reverend will do the rest by gettin’ him into a program.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. He extended his hand to the old woman, and she looked down at the long, lean, strong fingers. “I’m Wilson.”

“AnnaBeth. Don’t be flirtin’ with me. I’m too old for you.” Wilson laughed, shaking his head.

“No, ma’am, I promise I won’t flirt with you.”

He and Luc remained for the rest of the service, even taking part in a few of the hymns. They weren’t Bull by any stretch of the imagination, but they both had good, solid voices, and the folks around them noticed it.

Once again, the reverend ended the service by talking about the tragedy of losing Imelda. He wanted everyone to know that they were looking for her killer, but they should all remain vigilant and report anything suspicious.

When it was done, Wilson and Luc walked toward the man with the coffee in his hands.

“JT? My name is Wilson, and I’m a former medic and now an RN. Are you hurt anywhere?” Luc took the man’s cup and refilled it with the coffee at the back of the room, handing a fresh cup to him once more.

“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m off this week from work, so I’m not drinkin’ at work if that’s what the reverend is worried about.”

“The reverend didn’t ask me to check on you. I’m doing that out of my own free will,” he said. “What can we do to help you?”

JT was so surprised by the question he had tears in his eyes. Wilson gripped his shoulder, staring directly at his weathered face. He was most likely in his mid- to late-forties but looked ten years older.

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” he sniffed. “No one can bring back the dead. No one.”

“No, sir. We definitely cannot,” said Luc. “But we can help the living.”

JT stared at the man, then looked at the other big one. They were both strong, tall, nice-looking men.

“Don’t know that there’s much for me to live for,” he said, shaking his head.

“There is always something for you to live for,” said Wilson. “Would your wife…”

“Marisol.”

“Marisol. Beautiful name. Would she have wanted you to drink yourself to death? To drown in sorrow for something you couldn’t change?”

“No. Not her. She was a light,” he smiled. “She loved harder, more deeply than anyone I’ve ever known. Our first two girls were healthy, happy children. Marisol, she found out she couldn’t have any more children and said, ‘no problem, we’ll adopt.’ Just like that. I was the one that grieved a bit. I mean, I selfishly wanted a son.

“Then she comes to me one day and says she saw this picture of an orphanage in Kyiv. The kids all had disabilities but were living in squalor. It was horrible. We bought a couple of low-budget tickets, left the girls with a neighbor, and flew over there the following week.”

“That’s an amazing thing to do,” said Luc.

“If you’d seen that place, you wouldn’t say that. It was the only thing to do. The two boys were lyin’ in a crib together. Diapers hadn’t been changed. They looked half-starved. Marisol, she said we’re takin’ ‘em home right now.”

“She sounds wonderful,” smiled Wilson.

“She was perfection. Of course, we couldn’t take ‘em right then. There was paperwork and lawyers. It was all so stupid, considering how they were living. I came home for two months while she stayed back and did everything she needed to do. She visited them boys every day. Changed their diapers, fed them, bought them new clothes, read to them, rocked them.

“I’m tellin’ y’all, by the time I got back over there to get them, it was like lookin’ at different children. We had them for three years and one hundred and seventy-one days.”

Wilson could see the pain in his eyes and nodded at him.

“It wasn’t nearly long enough, was it?” he said softly.

“A lifetime wouldn’t have been long enough,” sniffed JT. “I just don’t understand why God took four perfect children and the best woman a man could know and left me here. It makes no sense at all.”

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