Too exhausted to drive home, I crossed town to my parents’ old house. The furnace had been turned way down, so I grabbed an extra blanket and slipped into their old bed, still unmade from my dad packing his single bag and moving to San Francisco. I chose my mom’s side of the bed, closing my eyes and remembering the song she used to hum to me when I was a little girl—The Beatles “Blackbird.” I hummed it softly until sleep found me.
Hours later, under sunny skies and improved roads, I drove to Aspen, taking note of buildings as I left Denver, their flags already at half-mast. The world knew.
I couldn’t avoid my home forever. If there was a body in my kitchen, it had to be dealt with before I brought the kids home. Seeing him would haunt me for the rest of my life. But I had no other choice. Parking in the driveway, I climbed out of the vehicle and took slow steps toward the front door. Before I could open it, I forced myself to focus on Anya and Franz. They were always my grounding point, my source of courage, my truest reason for living. Whatever waited for me on the other side of the door—I could handle it.
My gloved hand reached for the doorknob. I held my breath as tears waited on standby, and my heart worked its way up my throat. My hand shook. My lips quivered, and my body began to fold in on itself as I fell to my knees. Pressing my hands and my cheek to the door, I cried. Everything was my fault. Lila marrying Graham. Lila on the mountain that fateful day. Ronin feeling like a failure as a husband. Me … it was all on me. And then I just left him with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a gun in his other hand. Why did I leave my kids on Thanksgiving if I wasn’t going to save their dad?
“I’m sorry …” I whispered between sobs. “I’m s-so s-sorry …”
Ruff! Ruff, ruff, ruff!
Sucking in a quick breath, I slowly opened my eyes. I couldn’t … fucking … move.
Not a blink.
Not a breath.
I wasn’t even sure if I heard Mrs. Humphrey barking until she flew up the porch steps behind me and started licking my face.
Still, I couldn’t move. Did he set her loose before I arrived the night before? Was she just now finding her way home?
Snow crunched behind me. Steps. Each one getting closer, louder. I turned one tiny inch at a time. Trudging his way through the snow, red jacket popping against the white background, black hat, and a stick in his hand was … my husband.
My living. Breathing. Husband.
A warm wave filled my chest, my skin tingled, and my eyes burned with tears, making my nose run as I gave Mrs. Humphrey a quick ruffle on her head. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t. On my knees I covered my whole face with my hands and sobbed.
When the footsteps stopped, I let my hands fall from my face as the tears continued.
“Lila’s dead,” Ronin whispered, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
I managed a single nod.
“I don’t know how to make it—”
“I don’t care.” I shook my head over and over.
“Lila and I—”
“I don’t care.”
“Graham—”
“I don’t care.”
I really … didn’t … care.
My heart had no room for grudges, no room for anger, no room for contempt. What would one give to have someone back … back from the dead? What would one give for that second chance?
Anything.
“You’re alive,” I whispered.
His gaze averted to his feet. Shame. Ronin felt shame. “It’s unforgivable.”
“You’re alive,” I whispered again.
“It’s my fault.”
“You’re alive.”
He shook his head repeatedly, face scrunched in pain. “I ruined us!” His gaze jerked up to meet mine. “It doesn’t matter that I’m alive!”
“IT’S ALL THAT MATTERS!” That undying emotion, that sharp edge of reality brought me to my feet, to the bottom of the stairs, right in front of him with my hands framing his cold cheeks. A split second later, he blinked his red eyes, releasing so much grief as his hands covered mine. “It’s … all that matters,” I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling his warm body, his heart beating, his breaths on my neck—him. I felt him.
Words … they were hard to find as we made our way into the house. We would be fine. I knew it. But I wasn’t fine in that moment.
I was tired.
No … exhausted.
The bottle of whiskey and the empty glass remained on the table, but the gun was gone. I stared at the table.
Ronin grabbed the bottle and tossed it into the trash. Then he set the glass in the sink. I stared at the table.
He slipped off my coat. I stared at the table.
“Out back,” he murmured while hanging up my coat.
I narrowed my eyes a bit but couldn’t tear my gaze from the table.
“I wouldn’t have done it in the house.” He wrapped his arms around me, pressing his chest to my back.
When I didn’t say anything, he kissed my cheek and released me along with a tiny sigh.
Again … I felt his guilt and his shame. I felt his fear that we would never get past this.
“Evie … please say something.”
As Mrs. Humphrey settled onto the sofa, I turned around, leaving behind the images of Ronin at the kitchen table with a gun. There he was … in front of me, no gun, just … alive.
“I love you, Roe.”
He lifted his gaze, disbelief etched into his face.
“Evelyn Alexander …” he took one step and wiped my cheeks, so much sadness still in his eyes. We lost our friends that day, and life would never be the same. “You’re my favorite.”
My smile grew, fighting its way past the grief. “Your favorite what?”
“Everything,” he whispered, his voice breaking apart as he rested his forehead against mine.
My thumbs brushed along his tear-stained cheeks. My heart drummed, awakening those old butterflies that had been dormant in the pit of my stomach for way too long. “Are you going to kiss me?”
He grunted a tiny laugh, a sigh of relief as he smiled. “Probably.”
EPILOGUE
Ronin
“I’m ready to listen,” I sat on the velvet pillow as Athelinda maneuvered her seemingly brittle self to sit on the pillow across from me. The same old nasty incense hung in the air.
Same tacky room.
Same creaky wood plank floors.
Same weathered book with the brown-stained cover and the words “I AM” on the front.
Different situation.
The day after my wife came back for me, they found Lila’s body. She’d driven her car off a cliff. To anyone else, it looked like an accident on a treacherous snow-covered road. That was the story that made the papers.
The Porter family made the stories in Lila’s journal disappear. Graham’s death was ruled an accident. We stayed in Colorado long enough to bury our friends. Then we flew to San Francisco to get our babies.
Since San Francisco was only a twenty-minute drive to Berkeley, I felt the need to tie up some loose ends with my favorite parapsychologist.
“You’re ready to listen or obey?” Athelinda grinned, showing me her gnarly smile. She hadn’t aged a day since the last time I’d seen her. She still looked a century old.