Resurrection River: Men of Mercy, Book 2 (12 page)

Amy’s face heated. She hadn’t been to church since Shane’s death.

“Leave her alone, can’t you see she’s trying to get ready for a date?” Mrs. Oralee patted Amy on the shoulder.

“Tell Cyprien I’ll be expecting his phone call at five o’clock sharp,” Trudy said.

Evie stifled a laugh and agreed to convey the message. A more odd couple Amy couldn’t fathom, but for some reason, Mrs. Trudy set her hat after C.W. Videl, Evie’s grandpa, and the two had been courting for months.

“Sinful.” Mrs. Oralee muttered.

“Now, Oralee, I’ve caught you staring at James Harlow in church for the past three months,” Mrs. Trudy said.

“You’re getting the dementia. Come on, let’s let these young girls get dolled up. I want to catch Rhetta before she stops making her fried pies for the afternoon.”

“If you can forgive the drama, I’m ready.” Amber stood behind the swivel chair.

“Fried pies it is. Can’t hurt to add a few more curves to my girlish figure. C.W. swears he likes curves.”

Amy grabbed Trudy before she could leave and pulled her into a swift hug. “Thank you for that.”

Mrs. Trudy patted her and stepped back, “She’s been needin’ a set down for quite some time. The good Lord just presented me the opportunity with which to do it.”

With a wave goodbye, Trudy and Oralee left, and Amy headed to the chair. “Is this going to hurt?”

Amber spun her around to face the mirror, “Not if you hold still.”

A
my wiggled
her freshly painted toes in her brand new sandals and placed her muddy boots in the back of Hunter’s borrowed truck. Her feet felt...lighter. After a highlight, cut, mani and pedi, Evie in all her good wisdom, had brought Rosalee over for a new wardrobe. Rosalee Cosas owned Swank, the newest trendiest boutique in town. Amy bought not one but two new outfits, one of which she wore right now, along with matching shoes and accessories. And, on the side, she’d purchased a certain special outfit for Ranger’s eyes only.

She was now refreshed and rejuvenated. She’d been dreading the confrontation with Mavis, letting her fear hold her back for so long, but now she was free. Trudy and Oralee had her back. If there was one thing guaranteed to keep Mavis’s fat mouth shut, it was her husband’s closet alcoholism.

Amy buckled a sleeping Chloe into the car and climbed behind the wheel, ready to take on the world and all the Mavis Carters in it.

Ready to take on the one task she had avoided more than her monster-in-law. “I think I’m ready to go through Shane’s belongings.”

Evie reached across the console and grabbed her hand. “Are you sure? After all this excitement?”

"Yes, you've helped me see that I’ve not only been hiding from myself, but I've been avoiding moving on. I think I have to do this before I can completely close the lid on that box, and move past Shane without baggage. Without reservation. I want to give me and Ranger a real chance.”

"Let's get to it then. Where are we headed?"

“U-Store-It." Amy had been so shell-shocked after the funeral, she let Ranger handle moving all of Shane's belongings back home. He stored them in the heated and cooled storage sheds in town, safe and secure for her when she was ready. Amy pulled out onto the highway, biting her lip. Even then Ranger had anticipated her needs.

A few minutes later they pulled into the storage parking lot, the lines of orange and tan metal units lined up five rows deep. Amy reached into her purse and pulled the key from one of the inside pockets. Thirteen. Shane’s football jersey number. She turned right, in between the first and second row, and parked at the third unit down. Thirteen. The number glared down at her from above a large orange garage type door.

Another door she had to open. Would this one change her life for the better?

“You sure about this? His stuff isn't going anywhere, we can always come back another day,” Evie said.

Amy steeled herself, straightened her spine. "No. It has to be today. If I don't find a way to move on I'll be stuck in this... this... I don't know what to call it. I'm ready to move on with an open heart and open mind. It's not fair to Ranger that I keep holding back."

Amy grabbed the door handle.

“How about I stay in the car with Chloe and let her sleep and give you a minute alone?" Evie said.

Amy nodded, unable to talk around her knotted up throat, and exited the truck, shutting the door quietly behind her. She stood before the shed, key in hand, feeling like David ready to face Goliath.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Amy repeated the mantra over and over as she knelt on the asphalt and unlocked the door. The door snapped up, rolling with efficiency, and Amy almost fell backward. Instead, she gathered her willpower, stood and took the first step inside. The room was small, no bigger than eight by ten feet, and empty except for one black box.

Amy took another step, her legs as wobbly as a loose tire on a gravel road. All that remained of her husband’s belongings from overseas were packed into a box the size of a trunk.

She approached with caution born of fear and grabbed the lock. A lock for which she had no key. The walls shrunk, the ceiling lowered. Cold metal walls. Cold concrete floors. Sterile. Unfeeling. Uncaring.

The lock clattered from her shaking fingers. Not here. She couldn’t go through his private belongings here. Amy spun and ran to the truck, yanking the door open. “I can’t do this here. It’s not right. Can we take it back to your house, let me open it there?”

“You okay?” Evie peered at her like she was losing it, and maybe she was, all her bravado from earlier dissipating in the afternoon sun.

“Yes, I don’t want to do it here.”

“Well of course you can. The guys won’t be home anytime soon. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“Thanks.” Amy closed the door, went back to the box, and started to drag it to the truck. Sweat dripped down between her breasts by the time she’d pulled the heavy trunk the twenty feet to the truck and lowered the tailgate. She stood and fanned her new shirt out from her chest, attempting to circulate some air.

Evie hopped out, took one look at Amy and shook her head. “We need help.”

“Yeah, I’m not leaving without it. Not now.”

“Wait here.” Evie went off in the direction of the office, reemerging a few minutes later with a familiar face in tow.

“Now Ms. Amy, you can’t lift that thing by yourself. You shoulda come got me from the get go.” Steve Jones, lifelong resident of Mercy, towered over the women in his Big Smith overalls and sleeveless t-shirt.

“Thank you so much. I tried, but I just can’t pick it up. I had no idea it was so heavy,” Amy said.

“No bother at all.” He bent down and picked the trunk up with ease and placed it in the back of the truck. “I know I should have come by sooner, but I'm sorry for your loss. Shane was a good man. Served his country. Wish we had more like him."

"Thank you. That means a lot to me and I know it would mean a lot to him,” Amy said.

"Anytime, ma'am. Let me know if I can help you out in anyway." Steve said and then turned and went back in the office. Amy slammed the tailgate shut, locked up the shed and hopped back in the car.

“I need to see what’s inside. I want to know what his life was like all those months away.” Amy pulled back out on the highway and sped toward Evie’s turn off. They’d built the log cabin on Hank’s property, out in the woods, but not far from the river. Not far from the Wharf.

“I can’t even imagine. To know if something happened to Hunter and that’s all I had left.” Evie stared out the window and Amy felt the need to comfort her friend.

“You know as well as I you can’t think like that. Hunter is a strong man. And now he has something to fight for. Don’t let my life make you worry.” Amy turned left on the newly asphalted road to Evie’s house. After Hunter’s team set up permanent residence in Mercy, they’d paved the road and cleared sights for new buildings back off in the woods.

“Listen to me. I have my family and I’m whining over a possibility. I’m sorry,” Evie started tearing up.

“Stop apologizing. That’s all everyone does anymore. I’m sorry. I’m sorry your husband is dead. I’m sorry you’re having to be a single mom. Well, you know what, I’m not sorry. I’m thankful. I’m thankful for the time I had with him. I’m thankful for the blessing he gave me.” Amy swiped at the tears trailing from the corners of her eyes and glanced in the rearview mirror at her baby. A blessing Shane would never get the chance to see. To touch. To hold.

Evie cried harder and grabbed Amy’s free hand. Thelma and Louise. Best friends forever. “I love you. And I’m happy you’ve gotten your second chance.”

“Me too.” Amy whispered, unable to get the strength in her stomach to push the words out. Her second chance. Ranger. A man that vowed to fight for her. Without apology.

A man she was close to losing unless she got over her past and Mavis’s threats.

Amy pulled the truck into the drive, parked and got out, meeting Evie in front for a fierce hug. “Thank you for not giving up.”

Evie stepped back and wiped her face. “Well, I know how stubborn you are.”

“And you didn’t give up.”

“I will never give up on you.”

“Dammit, we gotta stop this or all my new makeup is going to run,” Amy attempted a laugh, almost hit it.

“I hate to tell you this honey, but you’re a little closer to raccoon than supermodel right now,” Evie said. “Okay, enough waterworks, we have a mission and I happen to have a dolly to lug that heavy thing in the house.”

“Great.” Amy went about unlocking Chloe’s car seat, careful not to wake her, and Evie returned with the dolly. A few grunts and curse words later, she’d managed to get Shane’s trunk in the living room, Chloe still asleep and all.

“Okay, go wash your face. I’ll make us a couple of glasses of wine.”

Amy ran down the hall and turned into the first door on the left. Ranger’s room. His stuff. His bed.

She swallowed the warm shiver running down her tummy. Focus. Wash your face. Deal with your baggage. Then you can bag your new man and show him what a real woman wants.

Amy went in his bathroom, grabbed a bar of soap and quickly washed all the makeup off her face. Her new shirt would need to be washed before the sweat stains set in, but later. That could be dealt with later. She went back to the living room. Evie had resumed position on the dark leather couch, feet up. Amy grabbed her glass and downed half in one swallow. Forget alcoholic. She needed the courage.

Amy faced off with Shane’s trunk. Big. Cold. Impenetrable. She lifted the lock and realization struck. No key. Ranger had given her one key. Not two. The lock fell from her fingers and clattered against the trunk with a sonic boom.

“I don’t have the key.” The wail of despair was real this time.

“Don’t panic. Wait right here.” Evie jumped up from the couch and ran from the room, returning a few minutes later with a large tool in her hands. “Bolt cutters.”

“Do I even want to know why you have bolt cutters?” Amy accepted the tool, almost dropping it. The cutters had handles at least two feet long and a beak made of steel.

“You can thank C.W. and the MRG.” Evie plopped back on the couch.

“You mean I can thank your near criminal background and your crazy grandpa who got you in that mess?” Evie had been inducted into the Mississippi Revolutionary Group last year, at the insistence of her grandpa. The move had not only made Evie skate the law but nearly get killed in the process.

“Exactly. Now stop yapping and get to work. I can’t handle all this suspense.”

Amy placed the bolt cutters and squeezed the handles together. The lock clipped in half with surprising ease and fell to the rug. “This is some serious equipment.”

“Told ya,” Evie said.

Amy knelt before the trunk, a wave of dread following her down, feeling like Pandora about to open her box. She swallowed and looked to Evie, who gave her a nod of encouragement. Pandora or not, Amy was doing this. Right here. Right now.

S
hane’s trunk lay
open before her filled with...video games? Amy reached in and pulled them out.
Halo. Modern Warfare. Medal of Honor.

What the hell?

Next came a PlayStation. Socks. Army shirts. His pillow.

His pillow. Amy pulled the soft cushion to her face and inhaled. Shane filled her senses. Memories flooded her mind. His smile. His laugh. Times of happiness. When she could move again, Amy placed the pillow to the side. A stack of metal picture frames lay in the bottom next to a shoe box that looked like an emotional atomic bomb.

Amy went for the pictures first. Lifting them one at a time, surprised at their size and weight. He must have bought them overseas. The frames were some sort of grey metal, heavy and thick, like nothing she’d ever seen before. The first held a picture of her in her wedding gown. She carefully sat it to the side and inspected the rest. Each frame held a memory. A picture of Amy in their old tire swing. Amy and Shane at the sandbar on the river. One of Amy sleeping...she didn’t even know he’d taken it. Fresh tears formed and dripped onto the glass. He’d taken all of her with him.

Shaking and sobbing and needing something else, Amy reached for the last photo. Ranger and Shane. Teenagers. A string of catfish and the river. Their smiles genuine and huge, arms around each other.

Oh God. His best friend. His wife. Together.

“Amy. Amy. Look at me.” Somehow Evie was beside her, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her. Her voice seemed to come from some far away tunnel.

“I can’t do that to him.” Amy sobbed and clutched the picture to her chest, her world cracking open again. The pain and betrayal fresh acid on an open wound.

“Yes. You. Can. Look at that picture. Look at those men.”

Amy pulled the frame from her chest and stared down through guilt colored glasses.

“Who else would Shane trust with your heart? With your life?” Evie forced Amy to focus. “With Chloe’s?”

Amy’s heart stopped all together, like God himself had reached his hand in her chest and closed his fist around it.

“Are you listening? Think. Use your brain, not just your heart. Do you think Shane would rather you be with a stranger, or the man he trusted like a brother?” Evie kept talking, her words starting to sink in.

Amy shifted her focus to her friend, the picture cutting into her palms. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course I believe it. It makes sense. He gave his life for Ranger and their team. Ranger nearly gave his life for Shane. And I know he would gladly give his life for you and Chloe.”

Amy sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to make sense of her words. Of the past. Of the future. Her future.

Her heart kicked hard against her chest.

Her and Chloe’s future with Ranger.

“He would,” Amy said.

“He’s crazy about you Amy. It’s time you accepted that Shane isn’t coming home. And deep down, you know he wanted you to be happy.”

Happiness and a chance at a real family. She took a deep breath and nodded, Evie let go of her shoulders and Amy set the photo to the side. “I’m ready. I’m ready to move forward.”

Evie searched her face, her own eyes full of moisture.

“I’m serious. Now quit looking at me like that before I start sobbing again.” Amy forced a laugh, broken but real, and faced the last item in the trunk. A shoe box.

Surely its contents couldn’t be as hard as the pictures.

She pulled it out and sat it on the floor in front of her. Amy glanced at Chloe, still sleeping, before prying the lid off. Letters.

The box was full of letters. He’d kept all her letters.

Amy placed a hand against her chest and pulled the first one free. Her first letter to him. She pulled each one out of the box, smoothing them flat then placing them in a pile. She didn’t want to read them, she remembered every word. But touching them seemed to heal something inside her.

Three left. Amy pulled one and smoothed it out flat, not looking as she stacked it with the others. The next, same thing. Only one left. Amy unfolded it, almost reverently, and looked at it. Her last letter.

She paused.

Not her letter.

She looked again, taking time to study the script.

Not her handwriting.

Her hands started shaking, the paper crinkled and crumpled in her fingers.

A love letter from another woman.

Amy, her vision blurry, her world tilting, scanned the letter. The words love, hot night, sex....punched her in the gut. Bile rose and she ran to the bathroom, puking up the meager breakfast in the toilet. When the food was gone, she dry heaved. Distantly she felt Evie holding her hair back, placing a cold cloth on her neck. “What is it? Amy, talk to me.”

At some point the dry heaves subsided and Amy sat back on the cold tile floor, letter still clutched in her hand. “Water.”

She could only manage one word. Her throat dry and raw, but not nearly as burned as her heart.

Evie quickly handed over a bottle of water and Amy took a sip. She grabbed the toilet and pulled herself to her feet. In a daze, Amy stumbled from the bathroom and into the living room.

“Talk to me,” Evie commanded.

But Amy couldn’t make her throat work, couldn’t make her lips form a sound. She thrust the letter to Evie, who snatched and read it. The look of shock that over took her friend’s features was a mere shadow of Amy’s own pain.

Then Evie’s dread morphed into anger.

“Who the fuck is H.J.?”

Evie’s emotion breathed a little life into Amy and she snatched the letter, studying the signature, the handwriting, the string of hearts, x’s and o’s. Familiar. She’d seen this before.

Evie bent over, reached into the box and pulled out a phone.

“Shane’s sat phone. Oh, my God. Is there a charger? Plug it up. I can see what numbers he called.” Amy made a wild grab, snatching the grey phone from Evie’s hand. Flipping it open in desperation, knowing it was dead.

“Amy, maybe we should slow down. Talk to Hunter first.”

“Get me the damn charger.” Amy might regret her tone later, but now she was beyond caring. Evie stood, unbending and blocking Amy’s path. “Come on. I have to know. What if it was Hunter, wouldn’t you have to know?”

Evie didn’t move for a full minute, but finally sighed and handed over the power cord. Amy rushed to the wall, fumbled with the cord before finally getting the phone plugged up. The minutes it took before the phone charged enough to power on stretched for decades.

“It’s on.” Amy all but shouted and scrolled the last dialed numbers. Most were foreign. She passed them quickly. But then Mercy’s area code popped up. Not her number.

Amy hit dial and held the phone up to her ear.

A phone rang in Evie’s house. Amy’s gaze collided with her friend. “That’s not my ringtone.”

Amy dropped Shane’s phone to the floor and raced in the direction of the sound. She ran down the hall and slammed open the last door on the right. Hayden James sat on the bed, her face pale, her eyes filled with tears. Her cell clutched in her grip.