Page 22 of I'll Be There
Silence fell between them as Pete looked away and Reuben wore the look of a big brother. Shoot. “No—it’s fine. I mean, it’s great. We’d love to have you.”
Oh no. No, no—but really, what could go wrong? It’s not like he was going into combat.
“Can I go?”
The voice stopped him.
Liza smiled. “Surprise.”
Conner whirled around and for a second, the wind shucked out of him, turned him hollow. Febrile.
Jim Micah.
Best friend from ages past, cohort, fellow Green Beret, the man he would have died for—nearly did a couple times in Iraq. Micah had aged, yes—a few more lines around his gray-green eyes, and a glint or two of silver in that enviable thatch of black hair—but he still possessed the same side-slit smile, the shake of his head as if to say,What, recruit, did you get yourself into now?
“Micah.”
“You didn’t really think you could get married without me.” Micah pulled him into a hug. “You dog, you. I never thought I’d see the day.” He gave Conner a thump on the back, enough to know he still possessed the ability to take him down, hold him there.
Conner thumped him back. “I know, right? But—how...oh wait. The text. You got one.” He glanced at Liza.
She grinned at him, so much light in her eyes, how could he not forgive her? “You’re surprised?”
“You have no idea.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Micah said. “I had to drive up from Minneapolis, thanks to today’s storm.” He looked past Conner to Liza. “And you must be the lovely bride.” He walked over, kissed her cheek. “I’m so sorry Lacey couldn’t be here. The kids had a soccer tournament.”
The kids had soccer— “What, are you a soccer dad now?”
He laughed. “Yeah, mostly. I’m still running an SAR outfit out of Nashville, doing some private contracting, consulting, and now I’m coaching soccer.”
“Raising up a superstar?”
“Well, Johnny is five, so it’s a little early to call him Beckham or anything, but we have high hopes.” Micah winked, and Conner fell back into the easy friendship.
Jim Micah. Here. It was as if God were giving him the thumbs-up on tomorrow’s excursion.
He might even hope big and believe that maybe, yes, he could finally keep that promise to Justin. To himself.
Find Justin’s killer.
“So where are we going tomorrow?” Micah asked.
To find answers.
“A field trip into the past,” Conner said.
Liza put her arms around his waist. “Promise you’ll be back by the afternoon? We have decorating to do.”
“I promise.”
Liza refused to live as a victim. As least in the waking hours. Midnight, however, turned her into a coward. Until then, she could lie to herself, find a novel, brew a cup of tea, binge-watch episodes ofParenthood.
And sometimes, text Conner.
But when the night deepened, and the streetlight outside her home clicked off, when her old house began to creak in the wind, the temperatures dropping, and when her body began to betray her...that’s when she got up and prowled. Or sometimes sat on the stairs in the darkness, nursing a cup of water. Because if her bladder filled, then she couldn’t fully sleep, fall into REM sleep.
If she didn’t sleep, she couldn’t awaken trapped under the rage of a grizzly, putrid breath razing her a moment before he clamped razor teeth onto her shoulder. He wouldn’t lift her, trapped in his jaw, and shake her so violently that her parts unfastened, knocked around inside her. Most of all, he wouldn’t rake knife-edged claws across her body, cutting her arm from wrist to shoulder, leaving a gaping, ugly maw.
