Page 202 of Dagger in the Sea

But I returned because I had to, and I stood on the edge and looked over.

Truth is a painful sword. It cuts deep and stings, but the pain evaporates, the blood dries, and in the place of such savagery is a gleaming absolution and an absolute purity.

It’s blinding.

It hurts.

And it is utterly beautiful.

You can’t escape it. Truth demanded a leap, I took it.

This is a story of my love for two men at two different moments of truth in my life. One man is gone forever; the other is very much alive.

Love not only stings when you lose it, when it’s ripped away. When it first bites, it can sting just as deeply.

This is also a story about the love between my sister and me, and our redemption through two families—one bonded by blood, the other by brotherhood—that tore us apart yet bound us together forever.

Real life is messy and strange, and our ride through it left plenty of bruises, slashed hearts, a few lifeless bodies, and blood and smoke in its wake.

But it’s our story, this rather mangled tale.

Chapter 1

Grace

I should have leftwhen I had polished off that first drink.

That had been my initial plan, but the Doobie Brothers “Eyes of Silver” was playing on the jukebox, and that really deserved another drink for old time’s sake. Not for the sake of the future, though. Isn’t that why I’d stopped here in the first place? I was just over an hour outside of Rapid City, but I wanted to put off harsh reality a little while longer.

Just one more drink.

I gestured at the bartender with my empty glass. He winked at me.

My motel room across the highway was most certainly not a fabulous destination, and I just couldn’t face another night watching bad reality TV or the usual sitcoms as I had done the night before at the motel in Montana. Tonight was different. No, I couldn’t sit still tonight. The walls of the room seemed to stretch to hold me in. Dead Ringer’s Roadhouse was a much, much better alternative.

It hadn’t changed much in the sixteen years I’d been away. License plates from all over the fifty states still covered the walls, but that original poster for a Doors concert in California was thankfully now secured in a thick brass frame. A dramatic spotlight glowed over it for all those who came regularly to pay their respects. I suppose the owners finally realized its worth. A vintage photograph, it too now solidly framed, of an old locomotive stuck in over twelve feet of snow during the infamous blizzard of 1949, took pride in its place on the opposite wall. Gentrification had arrived in this little corner of South Dakota. The same beer-soaked smell filled my nostrils, though.

Three pool tables stood on a raised section of the room where several older pot-bellied bikers played a game. The dart boards still dotted one wall as did the myriad of hunting trophies peering down at us from overhead—an eccentric variety of antlers, furry, glassy-eyed heads, and even a few stuffed fish, all mute, somber witnesses to the whirligig of flesh and alcohol below.

Hey up there, remember me?

I took in a deep breath and leaned back against the extremely long bar. In the center of the spacious Roadhouse was a sunken dance area, its long stretch of wooden floor polished and worn from years of use. Glass mason jars glowing with the light of votive candles spotlit each of the crowded tables surrounding the dance floor. I lowered myself back on my barstool and waited for my refill. The lights lowered a notch as the couple to my right laughed uproariously at a joke the waitress had told them.

I rubbed the back of my neck. I definitely needed to have a laugh and relax before I got into town tomorrow and faced the music. I was too wound up to sleep tonight. All my belongings, and there weren’t many, were packed in my Toyota Land Cruiser. It’s good to be mobile at a moment’s notice, like I was when my sister called me a little over a week ago.

“Grace, I need you, honey.”

She wouldn’t have asked me to come home if it wasn’t serious. I think both of us had been in denial over just how serious it was. I quit my job that day, packed my essentials, and came back to South Dakota.

Anything for Ruby. Anything.

But I wasn’t going to think about all that right now. Right now, I was going to try to enjoy myself. Well, at least have a laugh or two. Or something. That’s why coming to Dead Ringer’s had seemed like such a good idea after I had checked in to the motel earlier. My home town was located almost two hours away on the other side of Rapid City, so there wasn’t too much of a chance of anyone recognizing me here tonight.

After I had checked in at the motel, I’d taken a long hot shower, scrubbed the grime of the road off me, and eased the ache in my lower back from driving most of the day. I’d put on my black jeans and my favorite charcoal-gray T-shirt dotted with studs and tiny rhinestones along the wing design, shoved on my oldest pair of engineer boots, then set off for Dead Ringer’s. My legs always felt solidly weighted into the ground with these treasured puppies on, which was always a good thing, especially now. They were definitely a nice change from the high-tops I had been wearing to stay comfortable as I drove.

I raised my chin and inspected my appearance in the huge, cracked antique mirror that hung behind the bar next to the Roadhouse’s famous antique photograph of a nineteenth century gold prospector in the Black Hills. My grape lip-gloss had faded, of course, but my thick brown hair that I had highlighted off and on over the years had, as usual, achieved full volume all on its own. I had kept it bound in a ponytail all through my days of driving to keep it out of my face and off my neck. I combed my fingers through the layered waves that cascaded to my shoulders.

“There you go, hon.” The bartender blocked my view, breaking my girlish reverie. He slid a whiskey neat towards me on a small white napkin.

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