Identity Issues (25 page)

H
E LED ME into his bedroom, placed my backpack on a chair next to the bed, and went in search of sheets. Grabbing a t–shirt and shorts from my bag, I ducked into the adjoining bathroom with my toothbrush and paste. I went through the motions, washing my face, brushing my teeth, and trying to ignore the shell–shocked expression on my face.

McGrath tapped on the door. "You okay?" he asked.

"I’m alright. Be out in a minute."

"Take your time."

A few minutes later, I sat atop the couch, my legs curled up under me, a steaming mug of hot tea cupped between my palms. I paused for a measured breath.

"You’ve had quite a day," McGrath observed. "Ever feel like you’re living in a soap opera?"

I laughed. "You’re starting to remind me of my friend Jack, from work."

He frowned. "Who’s Jack?"

"You sound…" I smiled, despite the late hour and the events of the last few hours, and shook my head.

"What?" He looked sheepish.

"You can’t be…" I narrowed my eyes as I stopped to read his face. "Are you… jealous?"

McGrath muttered a foul word as he flushed with obvious discomfort.

I laughed, unable to control my reaction. "Aren’t you jealous of my husband?"

"No. That’s the weird thing. He doesn’t seem real, so I just block him out. I don’t want to offend you, but you don’t seem married. Your husband probably made you even more independent without ever meaning to or really wanting to."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He’s never home, right?" McGrath waited.

"He isn’t around much," I admitted.

"You’ve had to do everything. Fend for yourself. Handle crises with the kids, the dog, your job, the house."

I read the caring protectiveness in his eyes. Jon’s eyes hadn’t reflected that emotion in too many years to count. "I guess so."

"You’re the kind of woman who shouldn’t be alone."

"What’s that supposed to mean? I need some man around?" The totality of the past few days caught up with me. I almost felt embarrassed by my outburst.

"No, that’s not what I mean, and you know it. You are a bright, beautiful, and capable woman. I watched you and your friend today at the river’s edge. You were laughing, full of life, strong, making sure your friend was okay, taking care of yourself."

"Was that today? It seems like eons ago."

McGrath ignored me. "You’re the kind of woman designed to share life, not live it alone."

"You’re detecting, Detective McGrath, and I don’t know how much of that I can take right now."

"Sorry." He reached out and brushed a curly lock from my cheek.

I looked up at him, his eyes blue, so inviting. I could drown in them, I realized.

I set aside my mug and turned back to him.

A heartbeat later, he cupped my face in his hands, and drew me close—close enough to feel the wash of his breath across my cheeks and the heat emanating from his body. His lips brushed mine. I sank into a multitude of sensations, a moan escaping and startling me. I placed my hands on his chest, and backed away.

"I should get some sleep," I said when I could speak.

McGrath nodded. "I understand."

"I’m sorry." I regretted the words, but I knew they were the right ones.

"I should be the one to apologize," he said.

"No apology necessary." I willed my feet to the floor, stood, and made my way to his bedroom. I closed the door, and crawled into his bed.

Swimming, diving,

The stroke smooth

Waves rushing

The push, the pull

Floating sunlight

The push, the pull

The peace, the rescue

The dream at last

The next morning, I spotted McGrath on the deck after I showered, dressed, and walked into the kitchen. He had put on a pot of coffee, so I poured a cup and joined him. I struggled to meet his gaze, all the while trying to will away the currents sizzling between us.

"Thanks for letting me camp out last night."

"You’re welcome."

"I… I need to leave."

"I know." He nodded, eyes closed, then asked, "Are you sure you’re alright alone?"

"Trust me. I’ll double–check the window locks and secure the chains on all the doors. Thing is, I need some time to sort things out. If I can’t handle being home alone, I’ll call Jack. I’m sure he’d spend the night on my couch if I explained the circumstances."

"I’m a cop. I could do it," McGrath said.

"Bad idea."

"I get it." He sighed, knowing I was right.

"Thing about me is," I explained, "I need to be alone when someone hurts anyone close to me. It’s a fall–back position from my childhood. I promise you, I have enough spark flaming inside me right now to cause a massive forest fire. Any smart individual will feel the heat and back away. In a hurry."

I could have strangled Jon in that moment. For leaving me all the time. For having another woman. For not going along with me when I’d begged him for years to install an alarm system. His answer had always been, ‘We live in the safest town in the country. Nothing ever happens here.’
My ass.

I finished my coffee, thanked Jim once again, and went inside to gather my things. This was the wrong time to fall for McGrath.

I phoned Jack on my way home, but I said nothing about Rex, the condition of my home, or where I’d spent the night. My cell rang five minutes before I reached the house.

Surprised to see McGrath’s number on the screen, I said, "Hi."

"Just made contact with the evidence techs. Don’t worry about touching anything at the house. It’s alright to go inside and start the reconstruction."

"Thanks. I’d just wondered about that."

He paused, then said, "Be safe, Sam."

"That’s my plan." I heard him hesitate before he broke the connection, but he said nothing more.

A
FTER SCRUTINIZING EVERY last window lock, each door lock and even the dog door, making sure they were all secured, I spent the day righting, organizing, washing, and sanitizing. I felt violated, but at the same time more determined than ever. I’d be damned if anyone would frighten me out of my home. Upend my house, poison my dog. Go ahead. But force me out of my home? Never. The sooner I retrieved some small slice of my personal nirvana, the better.

Cleaning gave me time to think about losing Rex, the malicious destruction of parts of my home and its contents, and lest I forget, the fact that a woman had answered Jon’s hotel room phone. Never mind the reality that I hadn’t even heard from Jon.

I scrubbed the kitchen sink beyond clean. Weird, but McGrath kept sneaking into my head, my mind drifting repeatedly to the fantasy of an uninterrupted kiss—a serious kiss, one filled with soul–deep longing, connection, and sheer pleasure. I couldn’t not think about Jim McGrath, but then I reminded myself,
you’re a married woman, maybe less happily married than a couple of days ago, but a married woman nonetheless
.

My lot in life. Married yet single. Parenting five kids alone. Holding down the fort, battening down the hatches against crises too numerous to itemize. And doing a pretty good job of it, I told myself. Okay, maybe not such a good job right now, but in general.

I called the kids, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about Rex. Then again, there was no hurry. They didn’t need to know right this minute. So, I didn’t say anything. Instead, I soothed myself with the babbling excitement of their voices, which strengthened me in untold ways. I thought about the kids, all safe and sound with Grandma and Grandpa. I found solace there, and held tightly to what I still had, recognizing the need to let go of what I’d lost.

The sun’s rays glimmered on the pond out back. It beckoned. I walked around the perimeter of our property, dragging and stacking the larger limbs that had fallen during the storm.

Three hours later, my life partially reassembled, I called the vet. He agreed to deliver Rex home for burial at the end of his work day. I hoisted a shovel over my shoulder, walked to the far west edge of our property, and began to dig. When Doc Johnson showed up, I’d just finished carving out Rex’s final resting place.

"Over here, Doc," I called out when I saw him lift Rex out of his truck.

Doc, a giant of a man, made the trek to the back forty look easy. When he gently placed Rex in his grave, I couldn’t stop the flow of tears.

"Can I do anything else for you? Anything at all?" he asked as he straightened and gazed at me with sympathetic eyes.

"No, thanks, Doc. Rex and I just need to be alone for a little while."

Doc placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, patted me twice, turned, and returned to his truck.

I turned to Rex, so peaceful now.

"I love you, buddy," I told him. My heart felt lodged in my throat, like a cork stuck in the neck of a bottle.

I sank down to my knees in the freshly turned soil.

"You were the best damn dog a woman could ever ask for, Rex. I know you had your faults. You liked your dad the best, even when it was me who hunted you down if you wandered off, and even though it was me who fed you every single night for the past eight years. I’m really gonna miss you. Who’s gonna go for a run with me? Who’s gonna make me feel safe at night when your Dad’s gone? Oh, Rex, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this."

I swiped the tears from my cheeks, then scooped a shovel of dirt over him. Then another. And another. Tears blurred my vision. Once I filled the grave, I made a cross with two of the branches I’d gathered, and then tied them with a long shoot from the sassafras tree that stood to the north edge of the property.

Sudden panic shot through me as I made my way back to the house. Had the intruder stolen Jon’s gun? I raced inside and up the stairs to his closet. Please be there, I whispered silently. Please.

Although the front section had been tossed, I clambered into the rear closet without difficulty.

My mind raced. What the hell had they been looking for? Someone had broken into my home for a reason. To scare or to hurt me? To steal something? To kill me? I shuddered, not fond of any of the possibilities. I jerked open the door and located the metal gun case right where I had left it. Whoever had invaded and nearly destroyed my home hadn’t been very thorough.

I opened the case to be certain the gun was still inside. Ominous–looking metal with its sleek black handle lay before me. My new best friend and protector. I did what McGrath had taught me to do. Pushed the release. Opened the cylinder. Loaded the cartridges. Closed the cylinder. Then I stuffed the gun between my mattress and box spring. On my side of the bed.

I finished righting the house. Cleaner than it had been in at least five years, I climbed the stairs and took a shower. After scrubbing off the filth of the day, I pulled back my hair and dressed in jeans and a well–worn sweatshirt. I grabbed a sandwich and a beer, settling myself on the porch, and focusing solely on my food. I savored the smell of turkey and cheese on whole wheat, the taste of sweet against savory, the feel of the cold beer trickling down my throat. I reached down to pet Rex. An instinctive motion. I swallowed over the lump in my throat. Letting go would be hard.

I lifted my eyes and took in my surroundings. Everything looked normal. The grass needed mowing, a tossed Frisbee rested at the edge of the woods. Squirrels chased each other up the tall red oak, chirping and skittering against the rough bark. This would be my first night alone. During a second beer, I watched the sun set. Then I locked up, climbed into bed, and stared into the darkness far into the night. Two images flitted through my mind—my husband, Jon, and Jim McGrath. I finally fell asleep.

I
FELT SUBMERGED in a deep, dark pool. I slowly stroked toward the surface, but I couldn’t seem to reach the top. In the distance, I heard pounding that reminded me of the steady beat of a bass drum. Boom. Boom. Kaboom. Sunlight poured through the bedroom window as I broke through to the surface.

I finally recognized that someone was hammering on my front door. I pulled on sweats, shoved my feet into slippers and hurried downstairs.

I pulled open the door to find two uniformed police officers, one young, one older. Maybe they’d figured out who’d broken into the house.

"Mrs. Samantha Stitsill?" asked the young patrolman. "I’m Officer Kelly."

"Yes?"

"Ma’am, this is my partner, Officer Jensen. We’d like to come in and speak to you for a moment."

I looked them over. The young guy, tall and slender, wore his badge, gun, and appropriate blue. The older guy, forty–five or so, with white hair, extended his badge for my inspection.

I nodded. "Sure, come in. Sorry, I just woke up. Have you been here long?"

"Just a few minutes, ma’am," Officer Kelly said.

"I’ll put on a pot of coffee."

"That’s not necessary," Jensen said as he hitched his belt, which promptly slid down his mountain of a belly.

"It’s no trouble. Coffee first thing in the morning is a must around here." I led them into the kitchen, pleased at how clean and tidy everything looked for my morning visitors. "Have a seat. Is there news about the break in?"

I loaded ground beans into the pot, added water, and turned on the coffeemaker.

"No, ma’am. We’re here on another matter."

My heart stuttered in my chest. I took a steadying breath as I slowly turned to face them. "My kids. Are my kids alright?"

My heart pumped at a breakneck pace. My legs felt boneless, and I began to sag.

"As far as we know, your kids are fine," Officer Jensen said as he took my arm and led me over to the table. "Please sit down, ma’am."

"You’re sure?" I whispered.

"We’re not here about the children."

Officer Kelly cleared his throat, then spoke quietly, "We’re sorry to tell you this, but we received word this morning from the Japanese Consulate in Chicago that your husband was killed in a car crash last night."

I stared at them for a long moment, and then words burst out of me. "What do you mean last night? It’s tonight in Japan. Whose last night? How do they know it’s Jon? There’s some mistake. He’s there on business. He doesn’t drive when he’s in Japan. He travels by train. It must be someone else. It’s not him. Are you sure you’ve got the right guy? There’s another Jon Stitsill, you know." I suddenly ran out of words.