The Edge of Heaven (27 page)

Joe nodded. "As long as they don't want him back in Georgia, sure, I could probably swing that."

Sam thanked both of them, staggered by the sense of relief that washed over him. His little brother...

"So, that's what we'll do," Jim said, closing the file in front of him. "You want to tell him the news yourself?"

"Yeah, I could do that."

* * *

Rye was staring at the walls, wondering if he could take another stint behind bars. He'd thought he was going to die at first, and that he might be happy to do it, given the alternative of life on the inside. He'd railed against everything, the unfairness of it, the shock, the shame.

Then that guy jumped him, and things had gotten so much worse.

If they sent him back...

Rye started to sweat. Inside, he was screaming and outwardly, he just shook.

In the midst of that, the door to the cell block opened and in walked his brother.

Rye made himself stand up straight and look the man in the eye, still getting used to the idea that there was someone else who was so like him, so familiar and yet such a stranger. He had about a million questions about their parents, about what life had been like before they died, questions he'd probably never ask. And he felt the need to make a lot of excuses and apologies for the way he'd ended up. How ridiculous was that? None of it would do any good.

He also really didn't want any more scenes like this one, him on this side of the bars, Sam on the other.

Maybe this would be it—the big good-bye, nice-knowing-you, please-stay-the-hell-out-of-my-town speech before they shipped Rye out of here. They should have taken him to the regional jail days ago, not that it really mattered. He knew where it was going to end—with him behind another set of bars.

"What's wrong now?" he asked finally, when Sam didn't say a word.

"I was just wondering if you're ready to get out of here."

"Sure." He was up for anything, as long as it put some miles between him and Sam. "Where am I going? Regional jail? Or back to prison in Georgia?"

"Neither one. Joe and the county attorney are about to make you an offer you can't refuse. They're going to let you go."

"Yeah, right." He laughed at the idea.

Sam didn't. "They are. Misdemeanor and a year's probation."

Rye couldn't quite breathe for a moment. He had a flash of how it had felt that day when the prison doctor had gotten done stitching up his side, and one of the guards had walked in and told him the guy who attacked him, the one Rye had beaten senseless, was dead.

For a long time, it was like Rye was, too. Even after he'd gotten out, he couldn't quite believe the nightmare was over, that he was free. Maybe he'd always known it wouldn't last, that nothing ever really did. Maybe he'd been preparing himself all along for the day he went back inside. He hadn't been all that surprised to find himself back here.

And he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing now.

They were letting him go?

Finally, he managed one word. "Why?"

"Plea bargain," Sam said.

"What does that mean?"

"You know... where they cut a deal—"

"I know what a plea bargain is," he cut in. "I just can't imagine anybody offering me one like that."

Sam shrugged. "Joe's a friend."

"Of yours, not of mine."

"You're my little brother," he said.

As if that mattered? He wasn't sure if the relationship meant anything to Sam, and why it might mean anything to the sheriff or anyone else in this town, he didn't understand. He and his brother had seen each other three times now in the past thirty years or so. They didn't know shit about each other.

"You must have some serious pull in this town if you can make something like this go away," Rye said. "I thought you just restored houses."

"I do, and I didn't pull any strings. I would have tried, if I thought it would do any good. But I never expected anything like this, either."

It was still too much to take in. He kept looking for reasons this would never work. "Sure you want me loose on your town?"

"I don't want you locked up, Robbie."

Rye just looked at him. Hearing Sam call him Robbie like that was like taking a kick in the gut every time. Who the hell was Robbie? He really didn't know. He never would.

"Sorry," Sam said. "It's going to take some time for me to get used to the new name."

"It's not like I'm in a position to complain about anything right now." Rye took a breath and let it out slow. "So, these friends of yours... They're just doing you a favor?"

"They're trying to be fair. They know what's at stake for you. A felony conviction, and you'll probably go back to prison on the manslaughter charge. I suspect they're thinking of Emma, too. She told you about how she and Zach and Grace came to me and Rachel?"

"She said her father liked to hit her mother."

"He did. She'd left him but a couple of years later, she was sick and desperate to find someone to take care of her kids. She was going back to her hometown to ask a relative for help, but was scared to take the kids anywhere near her ex, so she left them in a motel here. They'd been there for three days before anybody found them. Grace was almost a year old, Zach was nearly five, Emma was not quite twelve. It was right before Christmas seven years ago. Rachel and I have had them ever since. We finally found their mother two weeks later in a hospital in Indiana. Her ex-husband had beaten her up and left her for dead. She'd been in a coma the whole time. Three months later, she
was
dead."

Not a very pretty story, Emma had told Rye. He remembered thinking she had old eyes, that she understood him so well. All those dark places... She'd been there, too.

"Anyway," Sam said, clearing his throat. "People in this town know what Emma's been through. I don't think the county attorney liked his chances of getting a jury in this town to convict you of anything to do with keeping that guy from hurting Emma. So they're letting you go. Hopefully this won't mess up the parole situation in Georgia."

"I can't believe it." It was starting to sink in. The room started spinning for a moment. He leaned back against the wall, needing the support.

"I know." Sam dug into his pockets and came up with a key, which he fit into the lock on Rye's cell door. "Maybe this'll help."

Honestly, it didn't. Sam pulled open the door, but Rye couldn't bring himself to step through the opening.

Then he thought of something else. "What about Emma's ex-boyfriend?"

Sam looked wary. "He's gonna walk, too."

"No. No way."

"It's part of the deal."

"You mean, if I walk, he walks, too?"

Sam nodded, his mouth stretched into a grim line.

"What about Emma? She's scared to death of the guy."

"She's already agreed to it."

"Shit. For me? She did this so that I can get out of here?"

"Yeah."

Rye threw back his head and wanted to scream. At her and his brother. The sheriff and the county attorney and the whole friggin' world. "You can't let them do this. She shouldn't have to put up with that bastard being loose on the streets."

"I'm not crazy about it, either, but that's the deal."

"Well, undo it."

"Look," Sam said. "The only reason the Jacobson kid isn't pressing for assault charges against you is because he wants to save his own butt."

"I'm sure he does, but I can't ask Emma to do this for me."

"You didn't. Joe, the county attorney, and the Jacobsons' attorney did."

"Well it's dead wrong," he said.

"Yeah, it is. But the truth is, Emma couldn't stand it if you went to prison for this. You said it yourself—she feels guilty about drawing you into this."

"It's not her fault. I told her that."

"So did I, but Rachel and I know her. There's nothing any of us could say to make her feel any differently," Sam argued. "It's who she is. She feels responsible for people, and she takes care of them. It started with her brother and sister, probably even before that with her own mother. She even tries to take care of Rachel and me. Now she thinks this mess with you and her ex-boyfriend is her fault. It would haunt her, every day you spent behind bars. She won't be able to let it go until you're free."

"But her crazy boyfriend will still be on the streets. I saw her when he was out. She was afraid to pick up the phone, afraid to open the front door."

"He'll stay away from her or he'll go to jail. There's a restraining order as part of the deal, and Joe will enforce it."

"She couldn't even sleep at night for dreaming about him coming to get her," he argued.

"Robbie, she's my daughter. I'll take care of her now."

Robbie.

There it was again. It stopped him cold. He had to convince Sam that Robbie was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

But this wasn't about that lost kid. This was about Emma. Rye couldn't tell if Sam resented him because Emma, when she'd needed help, had turned to him, or if Sam was just mad because Rye had screwed up the situation so badly.

He still worried about her, even if he didn't have the right. Sam, the father, was clearly telling him that if Emma needed taking care of in the future,
he
would handle it. Rye barely stopped himself from telling Sam he'd damned well better handle it.

"Come on," Sam said. "You've spent enough time here. Let's go."

* * *

The sheriff and the county attorney outlined the deal for him. He was fine with everything, except that he had to stay here during his year's probation. Not that he was in a position to argue. They explained that there would be court papers to sign, and an appearance before a judge to finalize everything. But basically, they were letting him go.

"We'll need to know where you'll be staying," Joe said, as Rye stood up.

"He'll stay with Rachel and me," Sam said.

Rye just looked at him. He had no intention of doing that. Sam took a breath. His jaw went tight. Did he think they were going to be one big, happy family now?

"Didn't Tim Davison move in with Mollie Grainger a couple of weeks ago?" Joe asked.

"Yeah, I think I heard something about that," Sam said. "His ex sure wasn't happy about that."

"He was living in that room over Rick Stephenson's garage. Why don't you give him a call? It's not much, but..."

"It doesn't have to be," Rye said.

"Just let us know where you end up," Jim said. "You'll need a job, too."

"That's it?" Rye asked.

"Until we have a court date. We'll let you know."

Rye held out his hand to both the county attorney and the sheriff. "Thanks. For everything."

Joe said, "Just don't make us sorry about this."

"I won't."

He and Sam walked out the door together.

It was the middle of the afternoon, clear and cold, the sun glinting off the thin layer of snow on the ground. The air was crisp and cold. It stung his cheeks, burned a bit as he drew it deeply into his lungs.

It was hard for him to breathe indoors sometimes, even when he wasn't inside a cell. Just an enclosed room could do that to him, just the idea that he was trapped inside, unable to get out. It had taken him years to get over that sick, claustrophobic feeling.

Right then, he felt weak and dizzy with relief at the thought of standing at the top of the steps, outside in the bright December sunshine.

"You okay?" Sam called out from the sidewalk below.

"Yeah," Rye said, wondering how long he'd been standing there, how long Sam had been staring at him.

"You're welcome to stay at the house for as long as you like, or in the carriage house, if that's what you want," Sam said.

Rye shook his head. "I can get my own place."

"Okay." Sam nodded in the direction of a big red Suburban parked by the curb. "I've got a cell phone in the truck. We can call Rick, see if he's rented that room, if you like."

Rye walked down the steps and couldn't quite look at his brother once again. "You know, you don't have to do this."

"Help you find a place to stay?"

"Any of this."

Sam looked honestly surprised. "Did you think I'd just walk away?"

"I didn't know what you'd do." Not when he'd come here to find Sam and certainly not now. He'd been kind of hoping they could get to know each other a little before he sprung the whole ugly picture of his past on Sam.

"Robbie..." Sam's voice trailed off. He looked like it was pulling teeth to get the words out. "Sorry. I didn't want to leave you there with the Ryans. Nobody gave me a choice in the matter. But I've never forgotten you. I've asked myself a million times whether I was right or wrong to walk away without telling you who I was eighteen years ago, and I still don't know the answer to that. But there's not a day that's gone by since then, that I haven't wondered where you were or what you were doing. When I haven't thought about going to find you again."