Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 72156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
But could I have? So many of the circumstances were beyond my control. Beyond Hawk’s and even Eagle’s.
Sometimes, you play the cards you’re dealt, and the outcome sucks, but you have no choice.
And sometimes…you do what you must to protect the people you love.
And you do it gladly.
Okay, maybe not gladly, but you do it because it’s the right thing to do.
And sometimes…it costs you your soul.
31
SAVANNAH
I’m hardly in the office the next morning when Gert calls on my cell.
“They’ve already put the service together for Ashley,” she says, her voice cracking. “It’s this weekend. Saturday, so you won’t have to miss work.”
“That’s good news,” I say.
But is it? This way I don’t have an excuse to get out of going to the memorial. And then the guilt. I should want to go. We weren’t close, but she was a big part of my life from the time I was eighteen years old.
So yeah, I should be there.
“Sure, I’ll be there.”
“The service is at Lord and Savior Episcopal outside San Antonio at four p.m. Then there’s a wake with food and drink at the Hunts’ house afterward.”
Food and drink.
Sure, let’s celebrate death. It’s always been that way and it always will be.
“I’ll be there, Gert.”
“Jordan and I are getting a room for the night. You want in on that?”
“And have you kicking me in my sleep? I don’t think so. But thanks.”
“For God’s sake, Sav, I’ll share a queen with Jordy. You can have the other.”
“That’s kind of you, but I think I’ll just drive back to Summer Creek after the wake. It’s only an hour or so.”
“You won’t be able to drink then.”
“I don’t think I’ll be drinking anyway. It’s a memorial.”
“All the more reason to drink,” Gert says. “But have it your way. If you change your mind, you can always crash with us. We owe you for sure.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“We crashed with you several nights.”
“I know that. And you don’t owe me. It’s what friends do.”
“I just wish…”
“I know, Gert. We all do. I’ll see you at the service, okay?”
“Right. I’ll see you then. But we’ll talk beforehand, won’t we?”
“Sure, if you want to.”
Silence for a moment.
“Yeah. I’ll call you.” Gert ends the call.
No Falcon Bellamy this week because of my personal day. And this weekend, I’ll be going to San Antonio for Ashley’s services.
So when will I see Falcon?
Next week, at our appointment, unless…
Unless I run into him before then. Before I leave Saturday morning for the service.
I’ll be at work each day the rest of the week. Two more days after today, so no chance of running into him in town, like I did yesterday.
The thought shouldn’t sadden me, but it does.
We can’t be together.
And it’s not just because he’s my parolee and I’m his officer.
And it’s not just because he served time for killing someone.
There’s another reason, as well—one I don’t allow myself to dwell on.
Because if I do?
I have to think about my own darkness, my own skeletons that will always hang around in my closet.
And I can’t.
I just can’t.
I get a late start on Saturday and nearly end up missing the service. When I walk in, the organ is playing and everyone is already seated, so I sit down silently in the last church pew. Gert and Jordan may be sitting up front with the family, for all I know. Did they save me a spot? Do they think I blew the service off?
When it’s over, they’ll know I didn’t. I’ll blame traffic.
Right. Traffic on country roads on a Saturday morning. Maybe there was an accident.
God, I can’t use an accident as an excuse. Not when an accident cost Ashley her life.
Her own fault, though…
Stop it, Sav. Now is not the time to be blaming Ashley for her own death. Now is the time to mourn. To grieve. To remember. To smile at the memories.
Except my memories of Ashley aren’t great.
I rack my brain, search my mind, for one memory that might give me some peace. That might make me feel less guilty for not being completely devastated at a young woman’s death.
And I remember.
One time.
Just once when Ashley was there for me.
Senior year was rough. I had a full plate of difficult classes, mainly because I’d allowed myself to get caught up in sorority bullshit the first three years and took an easy load. I ended up a few credits short on gen ed requirements, so this year I was cramming them in. Senior year is supposed to be fun, but for me? It was work. A shit ton of work.
It was also when we had the most responsibility for our sorority. Ashley, Jordan, Gert, and I all pledged Gamma Delta Pi freshman year, and we were all in the same boat senior year. All except Ashley who declared the cushy interdisciplinary major of movement studies. My father wouldn’t pay for that shit—he already had my criminal justice career etched in stone—but Ashley was the Hunts’ one and only, and Ashley got what Ashley wanted.