Conundrum (52 page)

He wiggles it,
then smiles, satisfied. It’s perfect.

Ed leaves the room, then puts the suit and tools back in the box. He drives home, careful to follow the speed limit as his heart thumps wildly in his chest.
He finds a dumpster in an alley behind a Laundromat
and tosses in the suit and tools and graphite blocks
.
He knows the third floor
of his office building
is
scheduled
for renovation in two months. Ed will make sure the desk gets taken to the dump when Nathan gets temporarily moved out of his office.

A wave of joy flows over him, lightening his mood considerably. He walks into his big empty house, but tonight it doesn’t feel oppressive and lonely. For the first time in many nights it actually feels good to be home. At some point Shirley will come back to him.
It
i
s inevitable. With no one to care for her and support her, she’
ll
have no choice.

Ed smile
s
and pour
s
himself a drink. She
will
be desperate, and remorseful. She’
ll
probably beg
him
to take her back. She
will have
nowhere else to go.

He down
s
his scotch in one large gulp
and nods, pleased with his decision
.

H
e’ll take her back. Oh yes, he
will
.
And he
will
make her pay.

Chapter 32

I walked to the house, numb, reeling. When I stepped inside, Jeremy rushed over. My face must have alerted him somehow.

“
Hon
, are you all right? Are you sick?” I knew he feared for the baby; that worry floated below the surface of both our minds every waking moment.

“I’m fine, Jer. Just a little shook up. This letter
.
 
.
 
.
”

I
stuffed
the envelope
back into my pocket
. Neal, sitting
in a chair
reading the newspaper, studied me. “What did it say
?
Do you want me to read it?”

I thought of all the explaining I’d have to do if he read Ed’s insane confession. “Maybe later. It would
only
confuse you. Let’s talk another time, okay?”

“Okay.” He shr
ugged and went back to reading, but I knew his curiosity was elevated. He would just have to be patient. I knew now I’d have to tell him everything, and Raff needed to know too.
Someday.
But right at that moment, I was overcome with exhaustion and a bit overwhelmed.

“
Hey,
I made some fresh-squeezed OJ. Sit down and let me get you a glass.” Jeremy helped me over to the couch and went and fetched my drink
. I didn’t realize how shaky I was until I took the
glass
out of his hand.
“Anne called. Wanted to wish you a happy New Year. Asked if you planned to meet her on Wednesday. She seemed fired up to get back in shape—her New Year’s resolution.”

I
chuckled
. “She does that every year. I’ll call her in a while.”

Neal
dropped
the newspaper
onto the coffee table
, having read the sport
s
section thoroughly. “Well, I gotta get back.
Planning
to watch the Rose Bowl
game
on my TV. Got some
friends
bringing pizza
.” He came over and ki
ss
ed my cheek. “Take good care of that little squirt in there. Uncle Neal’s going to teach him how to throw a
baseball
when he’s big enough.”

I gave
Neal
a sideways glance.
“H
im
?”

Neal shrugged. “Or
her
.
I recall you had a pretty good arm yourself.”

“Don’t forget it.”

N
eal laughed and waved me off.

Jeremy walked Neal to the door and showed him out.
I drank my juice, still shook up, trying to
wrap
my mind around the implications of Ed’s letter.
Had my father truly been murdered? Is that what he had tried to tell Dave Lerner in the hospital?
“
So easy to forgive others, but so hard to forgive myself
.
 
.
 
.
it was all my fault.
”
Maybe he meant Ed’s murdering him was all his fault, that he
had
provoked Ed
, pushed him over the edge. That ma
de sense.

I pulled out the envelope from my pocket and reread the first paragraph.
“
Lisa
, I am so sorry for the pain I caused you, all of you. I didn’t know about Neal. I swear, if I had known, I would have never done what I did. I was angry, so angry. I was out of my mind. I can only hope and pray you will forgive me. Your father did. He forgave me. I didn’t want his forgiveness
. I yelled at him. I wanted him to curse me, damn me to hell. But he didn’t.
I told him what I’d done, but he forgave me anyway. I don’t understand, not at all.
Why didn’t he tell me about Neal? Why? I have lived with this horrible guilt all these years. And it has eaten away at me, little by little, like poison in my blood. I am glad I am dying.
I can’t take it any longer.
”

A great sigh
broke loose
from inside me.
I had come to the end of my father’s story
; I had navigated this
convoluted
maze
,
and now where did that leave me?
What had compelled me, those months ago, to uncover the clues to his death? Some crazy notion that I could help Raff
?
Where had that come from?

Perhaps my buried memories of my father, a man who had imprinted his goodness and love on my heart so long ago, had nudged me toward truth. Toward a need to vindicate him somehow, clear his name of the
false
labels slapped upon him: cowardly, suicidal, heartless.
I
had
supposed
that if I searched for him, searched hard, I could find him. And I
had
.
At least, I believed I had.

It struck me that I had no idea where my father was buried. In Los Angeles somewhere? Or would his family have buried him in New York? I made a mental note to call my uncle Samuel and ask.
I was long overdue to pay my respects. Although,
my father
seemed more buried in my heart than in some cemetery plot.

Jeremy came
into the living room
and sat
beside
me. He looked out the window at the winter morning
, at the garden that lay dormant, the rose bushes cut back, leafless, stunted. I gazed at the alders across the street, their spindly bare arms outstretched to the heavens.
They seemed to be yearning for spring.

“What a beautiful day,” he said
, stroking my hair
. “A new year. Full of promise.”

He looked down at my belly
and smiled
at the life growing inside me. I felt strangely sad and joyous at the same time.
And although I felt heavy with my pregnancy, heavy with anticipation and, admittedly, a little fear and worry
over what the future held, something lift
ed
off my heart. Some burden, a reprieve of sorts.

For years I had carried around my own poisonous guilt—for my failings as a dutiful daughter, my inability to make my mother happy, my lack as a wife
.
E
ven
guilt
over my miscarriages, as if I ha
d
done something wrong,
so
that I didn’t deserve to have children.
And now, after
having found my father,
Nathan Sitteroff, these self-recriminations were dissolving.
I felt light,
as if
flying.

I looked at Jeremy, the
only
man I
had ever
loved, oh so loved, and my heart soar
ed
like a helium
-filled
balloon escaping into the heavens.
I
thought of
the man in the restaurant
—
the man who had spent
the better part
of his life looking for answers
.
Looking f
or truth
.

I’m free
, he said.

I mouthed the words along with him.

The
End

About the Author

C. S. Lakin writes novels in numerous genres, focusing mostly on contemporary psychological mysteries and allegorical fantasy. Her novel
Someone to Blame
(contemporary fiction) won the 2009 Zondervan First Novel competition 2009 (published October 2010). Lakin’s Gates of Heaven fantasy series for adults (AMG-Living Ink Publishers) features original full-length fairy tales in traditional style. Already in print are the first books in the series,
The Wolf of Tebron
,
The Map across Time
,
The Land of Darkness
,
and
The Unraveling of
Wentwater
,
with
three
more to follow. Her contemporary mystery
Innocent Little Crimes
made the top one hundred finalists in the 2009 Amazon Breakout Novel Award contest, earning her a Publisher’s Weekly review stated her book was “a page-turning thrill-ride that will have readers holding their breaths the whole way through.”
Innocent Little Crimes
is now available as an eBook and print book through Imajin Books.

Lakin grew up collating television scripts for her screenwriter mother. As an adult, Susanne assisted in developing series for television, and while raising two daughters and running a bed and breakfast inn in northern California wrote her first three novels and a cookbook. She currently works as a freelance copyeditor and writing mentor, specializing in helping authors prepare their books for publication. She is a member of The Christian PEN (Proofreaders and Editors Network), CEN (Christian Editor Network), CAN (Christian Authors Network—regular blogger), ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers), and two regional writers’ groups. She edits for individuals, small publishing companies, and literary agents.
Her blog for writers,
Live Write Thrive
, gives writing instruction and tips on publishing. And you can learn about her manuscript critique services at her
Critique My Manuscript
website.

In addition to her mysteries and fantasy series,
sh
e recently completed
Intended for Harm
, a contemporary take-off on the biblical story of Jacob and Joseph and is developing a swashbuckling dog memoir in the style of Moby Dick entitled
A Dog after God’s Own Heart
. She lives in Santa Cruz, CA, with her husband Lee, a gigantic lab named Coaltrane, and three persnickety cats.

Connect with C. S. Lakin

Twitter:
@cslakin

Facebook:
C. S. Lakin Facebook Page

LinkedIn:
C. S. Lakin at LinkedIn

Smashwords Author Page:
C. S. Lakin at Smashwords

A Preview of
Intended for Harm

Prologue

The highway of holiness is a toll road.  

No one had ever warned him. Never would he have guessed that the barren desert of silence and separation would serve as balm for his soul. Or more importantly, that it would take his old bones to the last place he expected: the far-off promised land—the proverbial land flowing with milk and honey. The land of reconciliation and restoration.