see he’s as caught up in the beauty of our surroundings as I am.
“Nice idea, Tomasetti,” I tell him. “It’s beautiful here.”
He casts me a half smile. “You’re not feeling stressed out by all this serenity, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Taking my hand, he pulls me around to face him and kisses me. It’s a small thing, the slightest brushing of lips, but my heart begins to pound, and I’m amazed that even after three years of knowing him, he still does that to me.
After a moment, he pulls away and stares down at me. “Every time I look at you, the things that happened three years ago … it gets easier.”
He’s referring to the murders of his wife and two children by a career criminal. It was a horrific tragedy that nearly killed him, too. He’s come a long way since then, but sometimes the rage and the grief still eat at him, like a cancer that’s fooled him into thinking it’s gone into remission only to flare up when he least expects it.
“You’re healing,” I whisper.
“You’ve been a big part of that, Kate.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
He grimaces. “I don’t know if this makes sense, but there are times when I can’t remember their faces or the sound of their voices. That scares me because there was so much good. I mean before … I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want them to disappear.”
“They’ll always be part of you.”
“One of the hardest things to accept when someone you love dies is that life goes on. It’s like a river that never stops.”
“Tomasetti.” I set my hand against his jaw and turn his face toward mine. “They’d want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you?”
He gives me a wry smile. “I think they’d approve of you, Kate.”
The words warm me with unexpected force and for a moment I have to blink away tears. For the first year or so that we were involved, he kept that part of himself—that dark, killing grief—locked away inside a place I could never reach. I know it was wrong, but there were times when I felt as if I could never compete with the kind of love he had for them or heal the gaping wound left on his heart. Sometimes I felt like an interloper.
“I hope so,” I whisper.
“I mean it.” Never taking his eyes from my face, he brushes his lips across mine. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I know I haven’t been easy.”
“I’ve never been one to walk away from a challenge,” I tell him. “Especially when I want something.”
He smiles at me, then takes my hand and we start down the trail. We’ve walked about a quarter of a mile when I realize the path is now running parallel with the river. Another hundred yards and we’re walking along the riverbank.
Tomasetti’s stride falters. “What’s that?”
I follow his gaze. Next to the trail, something yellow and red snags my attention. “Not sure.”
We approach the object. Nestled within the tall yellow grass between the trail and the river is a small shrine of sorts. I see faded silk carnations and fern leaves tucked into a vase. A good-size stone has been set partially into the ground. The façade is etched with a simple inscription: In loving memory of Angela Blaine.
“Maybe this is where they found the clothes of that missing girl.” Tomasetti looks out across the churning black water as if expecting to see her standing on the opposite bank.
“I wonder who put it here,” I say, thinking aloud.
“Someone who cared about her.” He tosses me a wry smile. “Or maybe Harley put this here to keep the legend of their ghost alive.”
I elbow him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cynical?”
“Just about everyone.”
It’s a silly, charged exchange. But it’s fun and we grin at each other like a couple of idiots. “What do you say we get back to the B and B and then grab some dinner?” he says after a moment.
“I think that’s one of the best ideas you’ve had all day.”
* * *
Half an hour later we’re
“Nice idea, Tomasetti,” I tell him. “It’s beautiful here.”
He casts me a half smile. “You’re not feeling stressed out by all this serenity, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Taking my hand, he pulls me around to face him and kisses me. It’s a small thing, the slightest brushing of lips, but my heart begins to pound, and I’m amazed that even after three years of knowing him, he still does that to me.
After a moment, he pulls away and stares down at me. “Every time I look at you, the things that happened three years ago … it gets easier.”
He’s referring to the murders of his wife and two children by a career criminal. It was a horrific tragedy that nearly killed him, too. He’s come a long way since then, but sometimes the rage and the grief still eat at him, like a cancer that’s fooled him into thinking it’s gone into remission only to flare up when he least expects it.
“You’re healing,” I whisper.
“You’ve been a big part of that, Kate.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
He grimaces. “I don’t know if this makes sense, but there are times when I can’t remember their faces or the sound of their voices. That scares me because there was so much good. I mean before … I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want them to disappear.”
“They’ll always be part of you.”
“One of the hardest things to accept when someone you love dies is that life goes on. It’s like a river that never stops.”
“Tomasetti.” I set my hand against his jaw and turn his face toward mine. “They’d want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you?”
He gives me a wry smile. “I think they’d approve of you, Kate.”
The words warm me with unexpected force and for a moment I have to blink away tears. For the first year or so that we were involved, he kept that part of himself—that dark, killing grief—locked away inside a place I could never reach. I know it was wrong, but there were times when I felt as if I could never compete with the kind of love he had for them or heal the gaping wound left on his heart. Sometimes I felt like an interloper.
“I hope so,” I whisper.
“I mean it.” Never taking his eyes from my face, he brushes his lips across mine. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. I know I haven’t been easy.”
“I’ve never been one to walk away from a challenge,” I tell him. “Especially when I want something.”
He smiles at me, then takes my hand and we start down the trail. We’ve walked about a quarter of a mile when I realize the path is now running parallel with the river. Another hundred yards and we’re walking along the riverbank.
Tomasetti’s stride falters. “What’s that?”
I follow his gaze. Next to the trail, something yellow and red snags my attention. “Not sure.”
We approach the object. Nestled within the tall yellow grass between the trail and the river is a small shrine of sorts. I see faded silk carnations and fern leaves tucked into a vase. A good-size stone has been set partially into the ground. The façade is etched with a simple inscription: In loving memory of Angela Blaine.
“Maybe this is where they found the clothes of that missing girl.” Tomasetti looks out across the churning black water as if expecting to see her standing on the opposite bank.
“I wonder who put it here,” I say, thinking aloud.
“Someone who cared about her.” He tosses me a wry smile. “Or maybe Harley put this here to keep the legend of their ghost alive.”
I elbow him. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cynical?”
“Just about everyone.”
It’s a silly, charged exchange. But it’s fun and we grin at each other like a couple of idiots. “What do you say we get back to the B and B and then grab some dinner?” he says after a moment.
“I think that’s one of the best ideas you’ve had all day.”
* * *
Half an hour later we’re
Similar Books
To Catch a Treat
Linda O. Johnston
Lorik The Protector (Lorik Trilogy)
Toby Neighbors
Hunting Wolf: Black Mesa Wolves #3
J.K. Harper
The Odin Mission
James Holland
Burial
Graham Masterton
Furyous Ink
Saranna DeWylde
Demonkeepers
Jessica Andersen
When Hell Freezes Over
Darrien Lee
