Sarah's Child Read Free

fire in his eyes. Diane had been driving the boys to school, and a drunk weaving his way home in the early-morning traffic had crossed out of his lane and hit them head-on. If he hadnt been killed immediately, Sarah felt that Rome would have choked the man with his bare hands, hed been so insane with grief when hed been told. Justin had been killed on impact; Shane had died two days later. Two weeks after the accident Diane had died without ever regaining consciousness or knowing that her sons were gone. During those two weeks, Sarah had spent as much time as she could at her friends bedside, holding the limp hand and trying to will her to live, but fearing that Diane wouldnt want to wake up from her death sleep. Rome had been a permanent fixture on the other side of the bed, holding the hand that bore his ring, his face gray and drawn, locked inside himself. Diane had been his only hope, his only remaining bit of sunshine, and her frail light had flickered and gone out, leaving him in darkness.
    Gently Sarah went through all of the snapshots, seeing herself and Diane in various stages of their childhood and adolescence, mixed in with photographs of the boys as babies, toddlers, and rowdy little boys. Rome was in some of those pictures, romping with the boys, washing the car, mowing the grass, doing all of the normal things that fathers and husbands do. Sarah lingered over a picture of him lying on his back in the grass, wearing only a brief pair of denim shorts, holding Justin dangling over his head. His strong brown arms were steady as he held the toddler up, and it was evident that the child felt secure in his fathers hands. Justin had been shrieking with laughter. On the grass beside them, Shane had been trying to climb to his baby feet, and one tiny plump hand had clutched the hair on Romes chest in an effort to pull himself up.
    See anything you want?
    The question startled her, and she jumped, dropping the picture back into the box. She realized that he was asking in general and hadnt noticed her staring at his picture with sick longing, but her shadowy green eyes were wide and wary as she scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt.
    Yes. Ill take the box. There are a lot of pictures in here of Diane and the boysif you dont
    Take them, he said curtly, walking into the room. He stopped in the middle of the floor and stood looking around, as if hed never been there before, but his eyes were bleak, and his mouth looked as if it would never smile again. He did sometimes smile, Sarah realized, after a fashion, but it was merely a polite movement of his lips rather than an expression of humor. Certainly the smile never reached his eyes and lit the dark fires that had once smoldered there.
    He jammed his hands into his pockets, as if he had to do something to keep them from knotting into fists. His shoulders were tense, braced against the impact of memories that this room must bring to him. Hed slept in that bed with Diane, made love to her, wrestled with the boys on early Saturday mornings when they came running in to wake him up. Quickly Sarah leaned down to pick up the box, turning her gaze away from him to keep from witnessing his anguish.
    The anguish was as much in her as it was in him. She loved him enough to wish Diane back for him, so he could smile again. He would always be Dianes anyway, because her death hadnt stopped his love for her. He was still grieving for her, still hurting from her loss.
    Im finished in the boys room, he said remotely. Everythings packed up. II Suddenly his voice broke, and Sarahs heart broke with it. He drew a ragged breath, his chest heaving with the effort it took to control himself.
    Suddenly his face twisted with rage, and he whirled to slam his fist against the dresser, rattling the bottles of perfume and cosmetics that still littered the top. Dammit, it was such a waste! He cursed violently, then groped for the dresser as his body sagged under the weight of his anger and grief. Hed