Page 39 of Legacy of Lies
What would she say? Her ex-boyfriend came by her house, remained calm, and said some mean things. Impolite behavior, sure, but not illegal. Besides, Tommy Brand, the bully kids’ father? He was the sheriff. Convenient. With the close-knit law enforcement in this area, she wasn’t likely to get a sympathetic ear.
Drawing attention to herself was not an option. Would it be too much to ask to keep a low profile and hush the town rumor mill? Didn’t matter what she wanted. Hank would paint this picture in a way that made him look like a saint.
Would it be too much to complete her contract, move away from this place, and move on with her plans for a teaching career that had nothing to do with Copper River?
Damn. She rubbed her jaw and flinched. The spot where Hank’s thumb had pressed into her face last night still ached. Makeup had covered the bruise, but his mark went much deeper than the color. Hurt on a deeper level.
Silence wrapped around her as surely as Hank’s cruel grip.
The still, dark living room brought no peace tonight.
A buzz sounded on the end table behind her, too loud in the quiet house, making her heartrat-a-tatlike a snare drum.
The phone glowed. Another voice mail from Garrison popped up on the screen.
Every inch of her body yearned to connect with him again, relax in the strength of his arms encircling her, and taste his heated lips.
What would be the harm?
Ice cold fingers of fear dug into her neck.
Hank.
Her career. Her carefully planned future.
Zach.
Forgive me. I can’t.
She turned off the phone and threw it on the couch.
Even after taking a long, hot shower and changing into sweats and a t-shirt, her eyes still burned. But she couldn’t go to bed and face another night of disturbing dreams. Not now.
Barefoot, she wandered through the living room and flipped on a lamp. She rearranged the few knickknacks on her bookshelf. She didn’t want to watch TV, didn’t want to curl up on the couch to read. In no mood for cleaning, instead she floated past a faded picture on the kitchen wall. And stopped cold.
Her own smiling seven-year-old face, full of hope and joy, pressed next to her mother’s face. Only her mom’s eyes didn’t sparkle with happiness; they stared, glassy and fearful, into the camera. Her mother’s smile came across as more of a frozen grimace.
The rest of the image wasn’t visible in the picture, but Sara remembered this moment. Christmas. No decorations, no presents. But there was a new boyfriend to hurt her mother.
And a one-way trip to Copper River for Sara to stay with her aunt and uncle waited on the horizon, only she hadn’t known it.
The last day she saw or heard from her mother.
Merry freakin’ Christmas, Sara.
When she blinked, the sting under her eyelids didn’t go away.
Tears now, after all these years?
Garrison’s gold-flecked gaze overwhelmed her mind’s eye.
She touched her lips.
Her jaw throbbed where Hank had grabbed her.
Hot, wet tears gathered, floodwaters behind a dam wall seconds before it burst.
Absolutely not. She would not cry.
After putting the picture back on the counter, she sank to the kitchen floor and sat cross-legged, her forehead in her hands, breaths coming harsh and rapid in the quiet house. The hard refrigerator surface provided her unyielding support.
With an ear-splitting crash, glass exploded from the window.
