Chasing Peace (25 page)

The detective took his name and made a note in his book. “Okay.
Where did you see him?”

“When Annie tracked me down, we went looking for Sterling. I
passed him on the back stairs. He was coming down while I headed up.”

“So you saw him coming from the attic?”

“Maybe, but I didn’t actually see him leave the attic. I
searched the upstairs first before going to the attic.”

“What made you think to check the attic?”

“I opened all the doors in the house until I found her.”

“You found her? Why didn’t you report this sooner?”

Boston’s shoulders slumped and the muscle along the side of
his jaw jumped as he gritted his teeth. “Sterling and I weren’t talking so I
didn’t know they filed a report. I didn’t even know she’d been drugged until
now. I thought she had too much to drink.”

“All right. Do you recognize anyone else?” Boston finished
looking, shaking his head no as he returned the tablet. “I’ll be in touch if we
need anything else.” The detective handed Boston a card.

“So that’s the guy?” I asked, with no recollection beyond
the photo Boston identified.

“He’s a person of interest. I can’t tell you anymore than
that about an ongoing investigation.” He tucked his notebook and the tablet
inside his coat, turning to go. “Thanks for your time.”

We are all quiet for a moment after Detective Morgan left. “Wow,”
Annie exhales. “That’s strange, almost surreal.”

“So that’s maybe not the guy?” I ask, uncertain about
whether they identified the right guy or not.

“Maybe he’s been picked up for something or they’re
suspicious and they’re hoping to connect him to an existing case,” says Annie.

“So did you guys just connect him?”

Annie tries to reassure. I think maybe, but they don’t like
to share their theories.”

“That sounds about right. I don’t know anything about the
case they have against Brock.”

“Okay, enough of this legal mumbo jumbo,” Annie declares. “I
want the real scoop.”

I shrug, sipping my coffee. “I don’t have any more scoop.”

“Now that you’ve moved back into your bedroom, is Boston
moving in?” She looked from me to him and back again, looking like a parent
trying to get the truth from a recalcitrant child.

I stare at her, my eyes round, my mouth hanging open like a
fish attempting to find air without water.

Boston squeezes my knee and winks before turning his
attention to Annie. “You don’t ask for much do you?”

“Hey, you guys are getting along great and you’re not
exactly a dorm kind of guy. It’s inevitable.”

She shrugged off the accusation with ease.

“I’m enjoying my independence right now,” I respond,
recognizing the truth in my statement only as it came out of my mouth. “I’ve
never really lived alone.”

Warmth heats my cheeks as I turn to Boston, almost
forgetting Annie across the table. “I hope you don’t mind?” I worry for a
moment that he might because as a couple, we’re supposed to talk about this
stuff.

He crosses an ankle over his knee and leans toward me,
trapping my hands in his, capturing my eyes with his gaze, drawing me in. “We’ll
talk about moving in together when we’re ready.” He spoke in a whisper, sharing
a secret meant only for me.

“All set for tomorrow?” He asks with an arched eyebrow,
turning me toward him as he reaches over my shoulder to drop the dishcloth into
the sink.

Boston cleared the table while I loaded the dishwasher. He’d
made jarred spaghetti and I tossed a salad and slathered garlic butter onto French
bread. It seemed so ordinary yet special too.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” His fingers flex into my
hips in a clench that feels reassuring.

He leans into me pressing me against the counter while
ducking his head to mine and dropping a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. “It’s
nice to know that guy from the party has been identified,” he says as if we’re
discussing our day.

“It’s one less thing to stress about.” I don’t admit to the
distress about tomorrow that hovers around the edges, threatening
unsuccessfully to overwhelm me. Just a month ago I would have been hiding,
trying to avoid everyone associated with my past.

“Maybe this will help.” Boston shoves his hand into his
front pocket. I can feel his fingers curl against my hip. When they uncurl in
front of me, a glossy teal blue box wrapped with a shiny white fabric ribbon
nestles into his palm in offering.

I don’t want it. I’m not ready for a bigger commitment. I
lower my eyelids, dropping my chin to my chest to hide the doubt in my eyes. I
may not be ready, but that doesn’t mean I want him to see my doubt. I just need
more time.

“Go ahead. Take a look. If you’re not ready yet, it can
wait.”

Even when I hide my eyes, Boston understands me.

Looking up at him from under a fringe of eyelashes, hope
springs, lighting my eyes and lifting the corner of my mouth in a tentative
curl.

“No pressure?” This time I raise an eyebrow in question.

“No pressure.”

My fingers shake with nerves and anxiety as I reach for the
box. I knew it wouldn’t jump at me or bite, so I couldn’t quite fathom what
caused my tension. My fingers hover, I can’t pick it up. Uncertainty about
where we’re going holds me hostage.

Leaving it sit on his palm, I pull at the loose ends of the
ribbon. It wilts away like a discarded negligee.

The fingers of my free hand curl around Boston’s thumb, as
if holding his palm steady while I move to lift the lid on the box. Instead, he
holds me steady. My nails sink into the thick pad at the base of his thumb when
I reveal the tiny white leather jewel box inside.

“Let me help,” he says. He flips his palm, excitement making
his movements quick and precise as he dumps the white box into his free hand,
discarding the blue box and ribbon on the counter.

I want this relationship to continue, but he’s moving too
fast. I’m not ready. “Oh God Boston, I’m not ready.” I expect him to drop to
one knee at any moment.

“You don’t have to wear it if it’s too soon,” he reassures
again, his eyes gleaming, a half smile hovering around his mouth.

My eyes glue to his, my heart stops beating and I forget to
breathe as he pries the hinged lid open with a tiny squeak. I can’t look. I’m
not ready to say yes and I don’t want to say no. Instead I whisper, “Oh God.” I
drag in a breath, my eyes slamming closed as if I can deny the inevitable.

“No pressure Sterling.”

I pause, eyes still closed, hoping that what I can’t see
doesn’t exist, just like the imagined monsters in the closet when I was a
child.

“Open your eyes. You’ll like it. I promise.”

His voice calm and confident bolsters my courage and I lift
my eyelids, not sure where to focus or what I’m seeing. Confused, I raise my
eyes back to Boston.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful, Boston.” I jump at him, trapping his arm
between us, almost crushing the tiny box as I wrap my arms around his
shoulders, reveling in the lightness that comes when dread dissolves. “I didn’t
understand,” I gasp on a half sob of relief. “I thought you were pushing me.”

“It’s so you never forget.”

My legs slide down the outside of his thighs, my toes not
quite reaching the ground. Boston holds me with only one hand. He’d leaned into
me when I jumped, pressing my butt against the counter. I stay there, pulling
back a bit so I can see his eyes again.

“Oh, I’ll never forget.” I study the tiny little footprint
sculpted in platinum and nestled among satin lining the box.

“Of course you’ll never forget Emma.”

I stroke a finger across the charm dangling from a fragile
chain.

He continues, “This is a reminder Sterling that it’s
possible to move out of the darkness and into the light. It’s to help you
remember the good instead of dwelling on the bad. It’s proof of how strong you
can be, especially when there’s no strength left.”

“It’s perfect,” I breathe. “I love it.” I smile at him,
awash with light. “I think I love you too.” I pause, meeting his eyes with
uncertainty, no longer uncomfortable that he might see how I feel. “Is this
what love feels like?”

“God, I hope so.” He smiles down at me his eyes shining with
something I can’t define, but I have my suspicions. “I think I love you too.”
My world spins with his words, like a rollercoaster, exhilarating and
terrifying at the same time.

“Here. Let me put it on for you.”

Sliding off the counter I turn lifting my hair as Boston
pulls the fine chain from the box. He hooks it around my neck, his fingers
tickling and making me shiver as I think that while the future remains
uncertain, it’s waiting for me to create my own life. It’s waiting for me to
reach out and grab hold of love with both hands, daring the universe to try and
take it away from me. And if it does, I know now that living life far outweighs
the agony of loss.

“Thank you Boston. How is it that you understand me so well?”

“How is it that you understand me so well?” he answers back.

It feels a little strange, but also very right. We’re both
looking to the future and we’re staring in the same direction.

* * *

I couldn’t sit, pacing back and forth, thankful to be wearing
soft soled flats. My shoes remain quiet on the terrazzo floor instead of
creating sharp clacking sounds that echo into the cold stone hallway with every
nervous step.

“Sit down Sterling. You’re wearing tracks in the floor,”
says Annie. Her shoes clacked. I smile at her and continue pacing. Boston and
Lyla are here with me too. They’re sitting together on a wooden bench, much
like a church pew.

I’m thankful for their support, although I realize I’m doing
this on my own. I’m doing this for Emma. For the first time in a long time, I’m
not hiding from the past, because I don’t live there anymore.

Smiling to myself this time, I turn for another pass,
fingers massaging my wrist, sliding back and forth from the joint on my thumb
to just above my wrist. Pausing midstride, question in my hesitation, I
consider for a moment. I don’t push on my hand. I don’t wrench my wrist to let
off pressure. I don’t need to. When did that happen?

Tilting my head in thought, I try to remember the last time
I cracked my wrist, and I’m not sure. Maybe that last party, maybe when Boston
and I got back together. I can’t quite remember, but it it doesn’t really
matter, as long as I’ve stopped. It’s such a small thing, yet it seems so
monumental.

“You know,” I offer into the echoing hallway, “It’s been
ages since I’ve cracked my wrist. I can’t even remember the last time it
bothered me.”

“That’s good,” says Boston.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I agree with a smile, thinking it feels
pretty good to feel whole again.

“You’re healing,” says Lyla.

“Healing physically and emotionally,” adds Annie.

That makes me think, crossing my arms across my chest in
denial of having been less than whole.

My mom hasn’t arrived yet.

When Rand approaches, I find out why. “Sterling? Can I talk
to you a minute before we get started?” He’s serious and professional and earnest.

“Sure.”

“Have a seat.”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Sit.” It’s a command I’m compelled to obey.

There’s a hush in the air as I sit. Annie and Boston have
gone quiet, but it’s more than that, a premonition sparked by Rand’s tone.

“The people really need you for this one Sterling.”

“Yeah. Are you sure my mom can’t testify too. I saw her
yesterday and she’s doing really well.”

“The jury won’t be sympathetic. She left her child with
someone who was drunk so she could go get drunk herself.”

“But she’s not drinking now.” I feel like I’m pleading to no
avail.

“Here’s the thing Sterling. You mother is here today.”

“Oh good.” I interrupt, wondering why he’s being so
resistant.

“No, not good. She was picked up last night for OWI. She’s
downstairs being arraigned.”

“Oh.” It’s like that one small word let all the air out of
me.

“I’m sorry Sterling. This is exactly why adding her to the
witness list bothered me so much.”

“Her sixth now, was anyone hurt?”

“Thankfully no.”

I don’t understand why she can’t stop drinking and I know I
never will.

“Thanks for letting me know Rand. If nothing else, it’s nice
to know I won’t have to worry about where she went or what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news Sterling.”

“It’s not your fault.” He squeezed my hand and I changed the
subject. “So I really have to wait out here until it’s my turn to testify?”

“Yes, but it won’t be long. We’ll take care of some court
business, they’ll bring in the jury and then it’s you.” He stood, still holding
my hand. You’ll do fine Sterling.”

I smile at his reassurance, the tremulous smile of a little
girl left alone again to fend for herself, but I straighten my spine as I watch
him stride into the courtroom.  Fear and misery came to the surface, but I
brushed them aside. I’m not that little girl anymore.

“Sterling? Are you okay?” asks Boston as he crosses the hall
to my side. I lift my face to his.

Annie follows him over. “We heard,” she says as they both
sit, like bookends on either side of me. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No. I’ve been through this before.” I look to Lyla who nods
in reassurance. “I’ll be fine and at least I know she’s not drinking her life
away, for now.”

I smile and resume my pacing. I pivot, turning back toward
the elevators just as they slide open, almost soundlessly. Mrs. Lambert steps
out, followed by Logan and his father. I pause arrested by shock.

“He told you,” I whisper, surprised that Logan found the
strength at last.

“We’re so sorry Sterling,” cried Mrs. Lambert as she rushes
forward grasping both of my hands in hers before tugging me into a smothering
hug.

My voice by her ear, “I’m glad Logan finally told you.” She
pulls back and smiles at me, a smile hinting at sadness and understanding. “I’m
sorry for your loss Mrs. Lambert.” I look beyond her, including Mr. Lambert
too, “even if you never knew.”

“Thank you dear.” She squeezes my hands with the statement. “I’m
sorry we weren’t there for you. If we had been, this might never have happened.”
She looks guilty, the guilt of the survivor, eternally questioning. I know
because I’ve been there. In some ways, I’m still there.

Mrs. Lambert holds me still and I take comfort while
offering some of my own. Looking over her shoulder, I mouth to Logan, “Are you
okay?”

He nods with a grim smile, holding tightly to his courage as
Mrs. Lambert and I pull apart.

Boston steps up behind me, resting a strong hand on my lower
back.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lambert, this is Boston, my boyfriend.”

“Hello son.” Mr. Lambert stretches out his hand. “Take good
care of our girl.”

“I do sir.” Boston is respectful, squeezing Mrs. Lambert’s
hand with both of his while saying, “I wish we could have met under better
circumstances.”

Logan, shuffling his feet with hands in his pockets pulls a
hand free when Boston offers his. They say nothing, but both offer curt nods as
if coming to an understanding.

“Sterling Adams? The people call Sterling Adams.” A bailiff
calls into the hallway, command in his voice.

I feel Boston’s hand again at my back, tense and lending
support.

Raising my hand, I step forward. “I’m Sterling.”

“You’re called to testify.” His big voice echoes in the
hallway. Looking past me he adds, “Anyone who wants to come in better come now
or you’ll be waiting for the next break.”

I follow him through the double doors, my fingers clenched
around the necklace from Boston. He trails, just behind to my right. “You can
do this,” he says.

“I can do this.” I whisper as I step forward, Boston’s hand
dropping away. I can hear the shuffle behind me as friends and family find
seats.

“The people call Sterling Adams.”

Straightening my spine and squaring my shoulders, I step
through the swinging doors, just like you see in the movies. I pledge to tell
the truth and take my seat. My eyes skim the crowd. I pick out Annie, the
Lamberts and Boston, but not my mother.

Glancing at Brock behind the defense table, I feel calm. I
forgive him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s responsible and I’ll always hold him
accountable, but I forgive him and I forgive myself.

My eyes finally move to the larger-than-life poster of Emma
resting on an easel across from the jury. I miss Emma. I miss her sunny smile
captured so beautifully in the photo. I miss her fat crocodile tears as well as
the red-faced screaming tears that were real. Most of all, I miss her love.

“I’m here for you Emma. I’m here to speak for you,” I
whisper, my eyes meeting Boston’s. I smile at him, a watery quavering smile.
From the corner of my eye I see the assistant district attorney, Rand, coming
to his feet and stepping from behind the table.

I’m ready.