A Gift of Time (The Nine Minutes Trilogy Book 3) (23 page)

Part Two

“Sometimes
our lives have to be completely shaken up, changed, and rearranged to locate us
to the place we’re meant to be.”—Unknown

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Grizz

2001,
Fort Lauderdale

He carried his
groceries into the small efficiency apartment
he’d rented on the beach. He’d been back in Fort Lauderdale for two days, and
in that time he’d been unable to meet with Carter, but he’d learned from the
local news that Tommy had succumbed to his wounds and died—at almost the
same instant he’d had that overwhelming sense of grief while driving.

Had he been
sensing Kit’s pain? He wanted to believe he had that type of connection with
her. But he quickly reminded himself that people that did the kinds of things he’d
done didn’t have those types of experiences. It was probably heartburn from the
chicken salad he’d eaten.

Now there
was nothing to do but sit and wait. He couldn’t go to Ginny, and he certainly
couldn’t have her brought to him. And he didn’t want to approach Anthony until
after Tommy’s funeral.

He was eager
to talk to Anthony. He wanted to know what Anthony might’ve heard on the
street. Had it been a random act of violence toward Tommy, or had it been
connected in any way to something else?

He put away
his groceries and made himself a sandwich. Sitting down, he reached for the
remote. He scanned the local news channels and paused at one showing a sketch.
It was a rendering of the alleged perpetrator in the convenience store
shooting. The newscaster explained that the convenience store didn’t have
surveillance cameras, so they had to rely on a few eyewitnesses. That sketch
looked like every Joe Schmo between Miami and West Palm Beach.

If he could
just get to Anthony, he could find out more. The street was always more
reliable than any news station.

He washed
his sandwich down with a soda and stared around the small efficiency. It was
nicely furnished and clean. He stifled a yawn and realized he was bored stiff.
The urge to ride summoned him. But he’d left his bike in that warehouse, and he
wasn’t going to buy one or steal one off the street for a joyride. Well, maybe
he could borrow a bike for just a few hours. Fuck. Staying out of trouble might
be harder than he thought.

He crushed
the empty soda can and tossed it at the garbage bin in the tiny kitchen. It
missed and resounded with a loud ping on the tile. He got up to retrieve it and
noticed the canvas bag he’d kept in one of his saddlebags on the motorcycle. He
remembered hastily throwing it in the car when he’d emptied his bike.

It was the
bag he’d stowed Moe’s journal in. He’d never gotten around to reading it. He
hadn’t wanted to. A wave of nostalgia hit him, and he weighed his options.

Steal a bike
for a couple of hours and chance getting caught, or open up that book and take
a glimpse into Moe’s life? He’d not let himself think about Moe too much. He
knew it was because when he did think about Moe, it was only with regret.
Regret was something he didn’t like to face. Something he didn’t like to admit
he felt. People like him didn’t feel regret. They accepted their choices and
moved on.

Why wasn’t
he moving on?

“Okay, Moe,”
he said out loud. “What do you want to say to me?”

He was
certain it was a big “fuck you, Grizz.” But he’d avoided her long enough.

He took the
journal out of his bag and sat back down on the couch. He had time to read a
couple of pages.

**********

Three days later, he sat in a
car and watched through dark windows as cars pulled into the cemetery and
people approached what would be Tommy’s final resting place. Ginny was having
him buried next to Delia and Vince. Grizz had “borrowed” a nondescript
four-door sedan with heavily tinted windows to be able to attend the funeral.
With the window slightly cracked, he could hear snippets of conversations as
people made their way through the throng of cars starting to get backed up.

Others
arrived on motorcycles, the loud pipes breaking the silence and symbolic of the
stark contrast of the lifestyles of those who came to show their respect. He watched
as the chairs that had been set out started to fill up. He couldn’t miss the
unmistakable outline of Anthony Bear. His head and shoulders rose above the
rest. Christy sat on his left, and a handsome young man, who seemed to favor
Christy, sat on his right. Didn’t Bear have two boys? It was then that Grizz’s
focus was drawn to the right, and he had to squint to see if his eyes were
playing tricks on him. A young man, whose resemblance to Anthony was uncanny,
was leaned up against a tree some distance from the others. His arms were
crossed as he balanced on one foot, the other perched behind him against the
large trunk. This was definitely one of Anthony’s boys, even though he wasn’t
as big as Anthony—yet. Grizz could tell by his posture that he exuded the
same brooding countenance as his father.

He noticed a
hearse and a black limousine, followed by a few cars, pulled up on a side
access road. He recognized Carter and Bill, as well as Sarah Jo and her
husband, whose name he couldn’t remember and wasn’t even sure if he’d ever
known it. They walked toward the big, black vehicle and guided Ginny, Mimi, and
Jason out of the car and to the folding chairs.

He hadn’t
realized he was holding his breath. Seeing her like this caught him off-guard.
She walked stoically toward the designated area, clutching the arms of both her
children, yet obviously carrying the burden of so much pain. At one point, she
stopped and seemed to bring them closer to her. After a brief moment, she
regained her composure and kept walking. Mimi and Jason. Mimi, an almost exact
carbon copy of her mother at that age. Jason, the spitting image of a
ten-year-old Tommy.

Grizz felt a
lump forming in his throat and a hard wave of nausea. He felt as out-of-place
as a football player in a ballet recital. An imposter. He was glimpsing a world
he knew nothing about. One he tried to pretend existed for him and Ginny during
their ten-year marriage, but one he hadn’t experienced. Raising a family.

It was Tommy
who’d been a real husband to her and a real father to the children. Tommy,
who’d wiped butts and noses. Tommy, who’d gone to school recitals and met with
teachers. Tommy, who’d purposely kept his family as far away as possible from
anything criminal or illegal.

What had he
done? He told Ginny he’d quit that lifestyle when they had a baby. He didn’t
get away from that life for her. He’d put a condition on it.

He was a
prick.

He hadn’t
realized how far his thoughts had wandered when a voice carried on the soft
breeze and found its way through the tiny opening of the car window. It was
Sarah Jo. She was addressing the mourners. He listened with half an ear, his
heart in his throat.

“Solomon
told us in the Book of Ecclesiastes that there is a time for everything, and a
season for every activity under the heavens. A time to be born and a time to
die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a
time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a
time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to
gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to
search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time
to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to
love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.”

Sarah Jo
then went on to share some stories about knowing Tommy as a child. Grizz
stopped paying too much attention, instead gazing at Ginny, at her long hair
and her beautiful face. He heard some mild chuckles as Sarah Jo recited a happy
memory.

“And you
know what I told him when he fell in that puddle? I told him he was getting his
just desserts for squirting me down with the hose. It was tit for...” She
paused as if she was overcome with emotion. She cleared her throat and started
to tell another story.

Another
round of quiet chuckles followed, but Grizz barely heard them. He stared out
the windshield and was brought back from his thoughts when he sensed movement.
The funeral was over. People were leaving.

He was
parked behind two cars and knew he’d be expected to move his car when they
pulled away. He couldn’t help but notice when a handsome man, who hadn’t been
part of the group that showed up with Ginny, gently took her by the elbow and
started walking her back toward the limo. There was something in the man’s
posture that raised an alarm. The man was followed by two boys who walked with
Jason.

Grizz didn’t
know who the guy was, but he sensed a threat and instantly didn’t like him.

He heard a
soft beep from behind him, realized it was time to leave. After starting the
car, he shifted into drive and pressed on the gas. Something was tickling his
cheek. Had a bug flown in through the cracked window? He went to wipe his face
and pulled his hand back. His fingers were wet. He glanced at his hand, his
first instinct to see if it was blood.

He was
surprised when he realized it wasn’t blood at all.

It was
tears.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Ginny

2001,
Fort Lauderdale

I thought I
knew what grief was. I’d felt it many times in
the past. I remember the crushing weight of Moe’s suicide and the devastation
of Grizz’s arrest, incarceration, and what I believed to be his execution. I’d
even experienced a profound sense of loss after learning I had a twin sister
who’d died in infancy.

None of it
compared to what I felt with Tommy’s death. The pain was thick, heavy, and had
found a home in the middle of my chest.

I wasn’t
grieving just for myself this time, but for my children, as well. The pain of
knowing Tommy wouldn’t be there for the milestones in Mimi and Jason’s lives
was almost more than I could bear.

I remembered
clinging tightly to my children as we were escorted by our friends from the
limousine to the graveside service. I grabbed them tighter when I felt Grizz’s
presence. I knew he was there and resolved myself to push him as far away from
my thoughts as possible. I was angry about everything, and for whatever reason,
I was channeling that anger at Grizz.

I’d had no
time alone with Carter, but I was certain she’d signaled him and he was out
there, waiting for me to come to him. I didn’t know how or when it was going to
be arranged, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. It was a moot point anyway. As
far as I was concerned, he could just go back to wherever it was he’d come
from, and I made sure Carter knew I meant it when she discreetly asked me at
the hospital the day Tommy was shot if I thought I was in any danger.

The next two
weeks were a blur as we buried our grief beneath the love and concern we’d
received from all the people who’d reached out to provide comfort. I had no
choice but to stay busy with the business and legal aspects of Tommy’s death. I
kept my children with me as much as possible and somewhat reluctantly let them
spend time with friends. I knew it was good for them, and I was actually
grateful and relieved when they returned to some activities that would help
them forget, however briefly, that their father was gone.

Alec had
taken Jason and his sons to a professional hockey game. Christy had taken Mimi
to the mall. Christy and Anthony’s little girl, Daisy, needed a new dress, and
she thought Mimi would enjoy the shopping trip.

I now had
the house to myself. The children were gone. The visits from friends had slowly
trickled off. People went back to their normal lives and schedules.

But I
couldn’t see anything normal or routine in my future. It hurt too much to think
about Tommy not being a part of it. The almost-silence weighed heavier than any
noise I’d ever known. The ticking of the grandfather clock, the muffled sound
of ice being dumped in the freezer bin, the quiet hum of the dryer. I felt a
ridiculous sense of betrayal by the appliances in our home. How could they
still function when I couldn’t? Where were they getting their strength from? An
electrical socket? I wish it were that simple for human beings. Plug yourself
into the wall and just keep going.

It suddenly
occurred to me I had nothing to do. The house was clean, and there was enough
food in the refrigerator and freezer to feed us for a month. I would go to the
one place where I knew I would find solace. My Bible.

I was
getting ready to head upstairs to retrieve it from my nightstand when I was
distracted by the sound of the mail truck. I walked to the front window and
watched as it pulled up to our mailbox. I realized that I was eager to see if
there were any cards or letters of sympathy. I found comfort in knowing someone
had taken the time to write and mail a card with their condolences.

Slowly I
walked back to the house, my head down as I sorted through the different
envelopes. Seeing the electric bill mixed in with the other mail angered me.
Doesn’t anybody realize my husband is dead? Don’t the people at the electric
company know my life will never be the same? How dare they send me a bill in
the middle of all this? How dare they expect me to carry on with my life as if
everything is okay? It’ll never be okay.

There was an
official looking envelope from the State of Florida. My lips set into a thin
line. Probably his death certificate.

I went
inside, absently shutting the door behind me. I laid the mail on the table by
the front door and opened up the envelope with the official state seal.

When I
realized what I was looking at, I sank to the floor and wept uncontrollably.
The ice-cold tile in our foyer felt good against my fevered skin.

It wasn’t
Tommy’s death certificate. It was the official birth certificates he told me
he’d have made for us the day I cleaned out Carter’s garage. We’d always used
the doctored ones we’d been given. These were the real deal. I was officially
and legally Guinevere Love Lemon, and he was officially and legally Thomas
James Dillon.

Except now,
it no longer mattered. Because he was gone.

The sobs
finally subsided, but I couldn’t bring myself to get up. I lay there for I
don’t know how long, thoughts of having to go through Tommy’s personal things
overwhelming me. How was I going to do this? I’d been faced with this task
twice in the past. The first time was when Moe died, and the second time after
Grizz was arrested. Both times I’d run from my obligation and let someone else
handle it. I wouldn’t do that this time.

I found the
strength from an unbelievably wonderful and unexpected source: Mimi.

After
Christy brought Mimi home that day, we sat in the den and talked about her
father.

“Mom, can I
ask you something?” she whispered.

“Of course,
you can, honey,” I sipped on the herbal tea I’d made the both of us.

“I don’t
know what’s considered etiquette or proper. I mean, it hasn’t been that long.
But it must be hard for you going into your room every night. Seeing his things
like he left them that morning.”

She was
right. I hadn’t touched a thing. I refused to throw away the crumpled up Jolly
Rancher wrappers he left all over the house. I couldn’t even bring myself to
pick up his toothbrush where he’d left it on the side of the sink and place it
back in the holder where it belonged. I fell asleep every night clutching his
pillow to my chest and inhaling his scent. I was petrified that I’d forget what
he smelled like. Petrified that I wouldn’t remember his voice, the feeling of
his caress, the softness of his lips on mine or the sense of oneness when we
made love.

“Yes, it,
it—” I said, a frog in my throat. “It’s torture.”

“Let me help
you,” she said. “Not one big project, but maybe a little bit at a time. Let me
help you make decisions. Let me help you decide what’s okay to let go and what
you need to keep. Let me laugh with you, because we know you’ll remember some
funny times with him.”

Before I
could answer her, she said, “And let me cry with you, because I know that if my
heart is breaking, yours must be shattered in a million tiny pieces.”

I gulped
back the tears that were threatening and nodded. My daughter was growing up.

**********

It wasn’t easy, but I have to
say that if I didn’t have Mimi, I don’t know that I could’ve gotten through it.
Mimi put herself in charge of organizing Tommy’s things for donation. She came
home one day from school carrying two cardboard boxes that she’d picked up
somewhere along the way.

“The boy’s
shelter where Dad volunteered could really use toiletries, Mom. They don’t even
mind if they’re slightly used.”

A few days
later she told me she’d found a nonprofit organization that helped
rehabilitated drug addicts find jobs, and they needed decent clothes to wear
for their interviews. Little by little, I inched my way toward healing as I
told myself Tommy’s things wouldn’t be thrown away. They would serve the needs
of someone less fortunate.

It still
wasn’t easy. I’d gone through his suits and pants pockets before letting Mimi
take them, and I found some small items that tore my heart apart all over
again. The hardest one was a small to-do list in the pocket of a blazer I
hadn’t seen Tommy wear in years. I remembered when he’d written it. We were out
having dinner, and I’d excused myself to use the restroom. When I returned, he
was writing a note to himself.

“What are
you writing?” I asked as I sat down and picked up my napkin to put it back on
my lap.

“I have to
remember some things for work tomorrow,” he’d said without looking up.

I now read
what he wrote that night. His to-do list for the following day.

Have Eileen set up call with the
Dakota people.

Look at Brody’s file. Time for a
raise?

Pull Scott specs for new client.
Similar design to what they want.

Tell Ginny how beautiful she
looked last night.

Mimi had
told me that day in the den that she knew my heart must’ve been shattered into
a million pieces. She was wrong.

Sitting on
the bed, reading the handwritten note, remembering that he did tell me the next
day how beautiful I looked that night at dinner, I was certain I would never
find my way back from the grief. There was no heart still beating in my chest.
I was empty. Void.

There was
nothing left.