Will felt incapable of denying Sara any request. He used his free hand to find his phone. He’d seen Emma Lee Mitchell from every conceivable angle, and he was sure she was a sweet baby, but at the moment she looked like an angry red raisin in a pink knit hat.
Sara flipped open the phone. Her smile quickly faded. “It’s a text.” She showed him the phone, then seemed to realize herself. She turned it back and read aloud, “‘Diedre finally died. Come home.’”
Will felt a sudden pang of grief. “Angie’s mother.” He looked down at her hand. She was still holding his hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Will hadn’t cried since he was sixteen, but he felt tears threatening to come. He struggled to speak. “She’s been on life support since I was a kid. I guess she finally …” His throat was so tight he could barely swallow. Angie claimed to hate her mother, but she had visited her at least once a month for the last twenty years. Will had gone with her many times. The experience was awful, heart wrenching. He had held Angie so many times while she sobbed. It was the only time she let her guard down. The only time she surrendered herself to Will.
He suddenly understood Lionel Harris’s words about the power of a shared history.
“Sara—”
She squeezed his hand. “You should go home.”
Will struggled to find the right words. He was torn between wanting to be with Sara and needing to be with Angie.
Sara leaned in close, pressing her lips to his cheek. The wind draped her hair across his face. She put her mouth to his ear and told him, “Go home to your wife.”
So he did.
EPILOGUE
LENA STOOD IN THE CEMETERY LOOKING DOWN AT JEFFREY Tolliver’s headstone. It seemed stupid to put flowers on an empty grave, but the things inside that coffin were more tangible than a jar of ashes. Brad had contributed a paper target from his first qualifying round at the police academy. Frank had put in his citation book because Jeffrey was always yelling at him for being late with the reports. Lena had donated her gold shield. The one she carried up until three weeks ago was a duplicate. Dan Brock had slipped it in with the other items because they both knew there was no way she could do it herself.
All the businesses on Main Street were closed the day Jeffrey’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Jared hadn’t attended the funeral either. His resemblance to his father had been brought to his attention years before. He didn’t want to distract the mourners. He didn’t want to bring Sara that sort of pain.
He wanted to be in town, though. He wanted to feel close to his father, to see the place where Jeffrey had lived and loved. He’d met Lena outside the diner. She was sitting on the curb, thinking about all the things she had lost. At first, she’d thought Jared was Jeffrey. Of course she’d thought he was Jeffrey. He was more than a spitting image. He was a walking ghost.
Maybe part of Lena was drawn to him because of the resemblance. She had worshipped Jeffrey too much to ever consider anything romantic. He was her mentor. He was her hero. She had wanted to be the same kind of cop he was. The same kind of person. She hadn’t realized until he was gone that he was just a man.
“Why aren’t you at the funeral?” Jared had asked her.
And Lena had told him, “Because I’m the person who killed your father.”
Jared had spent two hours listening to Lena pour her heart out, then another two hours arguing about how it wasn’t really her fault. His youth made him passionate, a staunch defender of his quickly formed opinions. He had just signed up for the police academy. He hadn’t yet seen the horrors of the world. Hadn’t yet figured out that there was such a thing as a truly irredeemable person.
Was she irredeemable? Lena didn’t want to think so. She had a fresh start ahead of her. A clean slate on which to write the rest of her life. The police review board had returned a verdict of no fault in Tommy Braham’s suicide. Will Trent’s report was long on supposition and short on evidence, especially since Lena had never gotten around to taping that confession. Gordon Braham was moving to Florida to be closer to his wife’s people. He had filed a class-action lawsuit along with Jason Howell’s mother against Hareton Earnshaw and the drug company that had sponsored the trials. He’d signed a paper indemnifying the Grant County force in exchange for an undisclosed sum.
Lena had gone through two operations and a week in the hospital, but the damage to her hand was surprisingly limited considering the hell she’d gone through fighting off a nasty staph infection. Therapy was bringing movement back to her fingers. She was right-handed anyway. All her left hand needed to do was hold up her badge when she was making an arrest. And she would be making a lot of them soon. Gavin Wayne had called two days ago to let her know the job on the Macon force was still available. Lena had told him yes without a second thought.
She was a cop. It was in her blood. Her nerve had been tested. Her resolve had faltered. But she knew without any doubt that there was nothing else in the world that she wanted to do.
She leaned down and placed the flowers on Jeffrey’s grave. He was a cop, too. Not the same kind of cop as Lena, but different paths could still lead to the same destination. Jeffrey would understand that. He had always given her the benefit of the doubt.
Lena looked across the row of headstones lining the cemetery. She’d already put flowers on her sister’s headstone. Frank Wallace didn’t have a marker yet, but she had brought him some daisies because she knew he liked them. He’d left her some money in his will. Not a lot, but enough for Lena to sell her house at a loss and still pay off her mortgage. She had donated the rest to a nonprofit legal fund established to help cops who got on the wrong side of the law. Something told her Frank would’ve approved.
Not that she needed his approval anymore. Lena was sick of worrying what other people thought about her. Part of looking ahead to her new life required her never to look back. The only things she was taking with her from Grant County were her clothes and her fiancé, neither of which she thought she could live without.
“Ready?” Jared was sitting in his truck. He leaned over and pushed open the door.
Lena slid across the seat so he could put his arm around her. “Are things going to be okay with you and Sara?” He’d had coffee with her this morning. Lena gathered things hadn’t gone well.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jared’s jaw tightened as he put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road. He didn’t like giving bad news. “Aunt Sara will come around.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
He kissed the top of her head. “She just doesn’t know who you are.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
He reached down and turned on the radio. Joan Jett started singing about her bad reputation. Lena stared into the rearview mirror. She could see the road disappearing behind her, Grant County getting smaller with every mile. She wanted to feel something for the place—a sense of loss, a sense of nostalgia. All she felt was relief to have it finally behind her.
Did Sara Linton know Lena? Probably better than anybody else alive. But Jared didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know about the mistakes Lena had made, or the people whose lives she had ruined. Things were going to be different in Macon. This was her clean slate. Her new beginning.