Faith of Dawn by Kristin Dearborn

Author:Kristin Dearborn [Dearborn, Kristin & Publications, Cemetery Dance]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Once Daniels’ cruiser was gone, Tom’s house fell silent. Lane stayed on the floor near the toilet, though she’d flushed to get her feeble sick out of her face.

The envelope with the papers lay on the floor, within arm’s reach, unopened. She didn’t need to know what it said.

She’d sign it tomorrow and mail it back, and they’d start down the road to divorce.

Whatever she’d left in the house was his now. It wasn’t anything she cared about, a hopeful bartering chip to get herself back into his good graces. She’d never changed her name. She kept her own bank account. She’d never adopted the girls, so there would be no issues of custody. The Jeep was hers, Patrick’s car was his.

All she needed to do was sign the paperwork and slip off her rings.

She hadn’t liked looking at them for a long time now. They sparkled on her finger, the petite diamond on her engagement ring catching the light.

It wasn’t her.

She slid them off and held them in the palm of her hand. The toiled bowl beckoned.

No. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t flush them. She’d put them somewhere special when she got back to Boston and… and what? They’d sit in a drawer until she died.

Well, so be it.

A knock on the bathroom door. “Manda? You okay?”

A million possibly answers, all of them nasty, flitted through her head.

“I think I had a bad reaction to one of the medications.”

“You want me to call the doctor?”

“I feel better after throwing up.”

“I have ginger ale and saltines.”

Memory swooped in on her. Ginger ale and saltines were her mother’s solution to whatever ailed you. She hadn’t thought of it in years.

The familiar double edged pangs hit her. She missed her mother, then hated her mother. For leaving them.

Tom hadn’t even gotten the pleasure of a divorce. No one could find her to serve her the papers. After seven years, she was declared dead, her father a widow.

Her father didn’t still wear his wedding ring either.

The feeling of solidarity prompted Lane to get to her feet, still clutching the envelope.

She ran some cold water over her face. It felt good on her bruises. She should probably put an ice pack or some frozen veggies on it to keep the swelling down. It made her look mean and tough. She’d been through worse in some of her army training. She bared her teeth at herself in her reflection.

She let herself out of the bathroom.

Tom hovered nearby, waiting for her.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Ginger ale would be good.”

He practically tripped over himself getting it for her, then helped her, which she totally didn’t need, to his big, puffy recliner.

“I don’t want to take your spot,” she said.

“It’s your spot as long as you need it.” He perched on the edge of the coffee table, knees spread wide, hands clasped between them.

“Sweetie. You have to leave town.”

“I’ve been through all this with Daniels. I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me what you were here working on?”

She shrugged.

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