A Deep and Dark December (39 page)

“So you’re what? Breaking up with me?”

“I’m freeing you of your obligation.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

She bowed her head and rubbed her eyes. So tired. She was so tired and achy, hurting from the inside out. “I can’t be the amends you make. I can’t be the thing that ties you to this town. I can’t let you use our relationship as some kind of half-assed attempt at absolution.”

“That’s not—”

She whipped her head up to glare at him. “Bullshit!”

“I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re all wrong.”

“Am I?”

~*~

No, she wasn’t, Graham suddenly realized. Not entirely. Her tone was like a chisel to his chest, chipping away at all the bullshit she’d called him out on. He
did
feel guilty for her getting shot. It
was
his fault. The bullets he’d loaded into his gun had torn through her flesh and could’ve killed her.

Everything was so fucked up and off center he couldn’t entirely trust his own judgment when it came to her. She’d gotten one important fact wrong though—he was so head over heels in love with her he hardly had a thought without her in it. And he definitely didn’t see her as an obligation.

“You’re not tying me to this town.” It was all he had to offer her. “I’m the sheriff. At least I will be once I’m cleared and off of administrative leave. With Adam away I’m all my mom’s got. I’ve been planning on staying in San Rey for some time now.”

She laughed, but it rang hollow and sad between them. “Really? That’s a switch.”

“What do you want me to say?” Because he’d say it, do it, whatever it took to make her stay with him.

“Nothing.”

“So that’s it? We’re just over.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She stared at him, hugging her disappointment to her as tightly as her arm wrapped around her body. Goddammit! What did she want from him?

He turned and left, his feet taking him away from her and the purest moments of joy he’d ever known. The further he got, the hotter he burned. By the time he exited the hospital he wanted to hit something so bad he shook with it. He climbed into his car and slammed the door closed. Tearing out of the parking lot, he didn’t care about getting lit up for speeding. He had to get far away from Erin and her words that chased him like rabid dogs, chomping and snarling.

He struck the steering wheel with the flat of his hand over and over until the pain radiated up his arm and into his shoulder. It didn’t help. The pressure rose inside, threatening to spill over.

What in the hell was he supposed to do without her?

Erin was released from the hospital the same day as Ham’s funeral. She sat at the back of the church with her aunt who had insisted on coming along with her even though Cerie would rather spit on Ham’s casket than grieve over it.

Erin wasn’t there to mourn Ham either. There were no respects to pay. She wasn’t sure why she’d come. Maybe it was for a glimpse of Graham, to see how he was doing and to be there for him in some small way. They’d slipped into the end of the last pew just before the service started so all she could see of him was the back of his head. He had an arm across his mother’s shaking shoulders and would lean down to whisper to her every now and then.

Erin accepted the well wishes of passersby. Their concern felt genuine as though she was truly, finally one of them. The tale of what had happened between her and Graham and Ham had somehow become romanticized, like some twisted Romeo and Juliet tale. The townspeople accepted it as a point of town pride and there’d been talk about some kind of plaque or monument to what had happened on the bluffs, which she’d heard Graham had quashed.

If they only knew the true story.

The service began and the reverend spoke of Ham’s accomplishments, his tenure as sheriff, his family, and his community activities. There was no mention of the deaths he’d caused or the terror he’d inflicted. Nearly the entire town of San Rey had turned out. Every seat was filled, with the overflow standing at the sides and back. And not one of them had any idea that the man they’d come to pay tribute to was a monster.

The mayor made a speech, followed by a few community leaders. Then Graham rose and made his way to the front of the room. Her stomach whooshed at her first sight of him since that day in the hospital. She’d heard that he’d been cleared in the shooting and reinstated as sheriff. She was glad. He didn’t deserve to pay for what his father had done.

He wore a somber dark suit and tie, which hung like it had been made for him. He looked out at the crowd through tired eyes. She drank him in, savoring every single nuance, from the way he’d combed his hair back to the new lines that bracketed his mouth. Had it only been a little over a week since she’d seen him? It felt like forever.

“My mother, brother, and I would like to thank you all for coming,” he began. “In lieu of flowers, we’re asking for donations to The Alzheimer’s Foundation of America. Your support through this difficult time for our family means the world to us. Thank you.”

As he turned from the podium his gaze caught on Erin, lingered, then swung away toward his mother. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have Graham Doran’s attention on her. It still packed a punch that would’ve rocked her back on her heels if she’d been standing. She wanted to go to him and offer comfort, but it wasn’t her place anymore.

“It’ll be all right, chicken.” Aunt Cerie bumped Erin’s shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’ll come around. If it’s any consolation, he’s pining away for you. When he saw you he thought—”

Erin held up a hand. “I don’t want to know his thoughts. Please don’t eavesdrop on him. Graham’s off limits.”

“He knows I’m listening. He’s worried about you.”

“What part off
he’s off limits
do you not understand?”

Cerie fluttered a hand. “Fine. Fine. Have it your way. But I think you should give the man another chance.”

“What is or isn’t happening between Graham and me is none of your business.”

The service ended and everyone stood. Erin watched as Graham went to the front corner of his father’s casket and hefted it up with the other pallbearers. They slowly made their way down the aisle while the church organ moaned. Graham stared straight ahead, his back rigid. As he passed, Erin couldn’t resist reaching out and brushing his hand, a silent show of support. To her surprise he grabbed her fingers, giving them the briefest squeeze, before dropping them and moving out into the gray morning.

Erin held her breath, barely managing to stifle a sob. She knew she’d done the right thing for both of them, but the right thing was never the easiest. Unable to tear her gaze from his retreating back, she slipped out after the family and stood to the side at the top of the church steps as the rest of the mourners filed out past her.

Cerie slipped her hand into Erin’s and hugged her arm. “He’s holding up well. Maybe better than you.”

“I didn’t think it would be so hard to see him and not be with him.”

“He’s carrying a burden bigger and heavier than his father’s casket.”

“I wish I knew how to help him.”

“Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

“I hope you’re right.”

~*~

Graham set Ham’s casket on the metal rails at the back of the hearse and helped slide it in. He’d gone through all the motions of being a good son, doing everything expected of him, and now there was just one more thing to do—lay Ham to an easier rest than he deserved.

He helped his mother into his car and then climbed in on the driver’s side. He’d spent the week making funeral arrangements and making sure she was properly cared for by hiring a nurse and moving into the house with her. Tomorrow he’d start back to work as sheriff of San Rey. He was surprised at how much he looked forward to it. Maybe the day-to-day of police work would distract him from thoughts of Erin, thoughts he’d finally gotten a handle on until he’d seen her in the church.

He’d done a pretty good job of putting up a front and focusing on what needed to be done to get through this day. He saw her and his head got so crowded with everything they’d been and done together, he could hardly breathe. And then she’d touched him and he had to focus hard on getting out the door and down the stairs, each step away from her a pounding reminder of how much he’d let her down.

“That was a lovely service,” his mother said. “Who was it for?”

Her question caught him off guard. Again. This would be the third time he’d have to tell her that her husband was dead. When they’d arrived at the church and she saw the portrait of Ham beside his casket, she’d broken down, beginning the grieving process as though it was the first time. He could shatter her world all over again now or wait until they got to the gravesite when she’d see the temporary headstone and the horrific shock would grip her anew once more.

So he lied and told her that the funeral was for an old church friend of hers who’d died several years ago.

“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Her poor family. Did we send flowers?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“Such a shame. I’m sure going to miss her blueberry pie.”

Every day seemed to bring new punctures in her memory, so it was strange the things that would stick—like blueberry pie. Her memories spun on a roulette wheel with no way of knowing on what time of her life the ball would stop. His mother would be caught in the cycle of forgetting Ham’s death, then mourning her husband all over again for the rest of her life. He didn’t know how many more times he could watch her go through it. She’d truly loved her husband. They’d had a good marriage. Or so everyone had assumed.

And then for some reason Ham had taken up with Deidre and everything had gone to shit. He’d had some time to think through the whys of what Ham had done. Spending so much time with his mother, he began to see how much her illness must have changed their relationship. Still, how had things gotten to where Ham had stepped outside their marriage? That alone was so unlike Ham, almost more than the killing.

He glanced at his mother who had taken out the knitting she always carried with her and was now happily working her yarn as though she wasn’t on her way to bury her husband. Maybe she was better off than the rest of them. Her world stayed calm until reality intruded and she’d have to face all the things her mind had hidden from her with no choice but to go through tragedies over and over again.

Stuck. She was stuck within the prison of her own mind, never moving forward, never fully present. Hadn’t Erin accused him of the same thing, of being stuck in a cycle of guilt and obligation that had no end? He couldn’t make amends for what Ham had done. He knew that. He did. Although he was having a hard time working through his role in what had happened, he was beginning to learn how to live with it and beat back all the could have’s and should have’s of that night.

Erin had called him a hero. He was no hero. Careless. He’d been so fucking careless with the people in his life. No more. He’d worked hard in the past few days at breaking that pattern and was finally beginning to feel like he was accomplishing something in caring for his mother. She wasn’t an obligation. He was actually getting pretty good at gauging her moods. He’d learned how to redirect her when she became fixated on something and worked herself into exhaustion, worrying about things that didn’t exist anymore or weren’t hers to worry about.

And that first time when redirecting didn’t work, he’d been forced to use his ability to calm his mother down. It had worked. He knew it would but still, using it that first time was like learning to rush in as a first responder when every survival instinct he had screamed at him to get out.

The nights were the worst for his mother. He’d stand outside her bedroom door and will her to settle down and go to sleep until he heard her soft snores. She’d reward him in the morning with pancakes as if he was on summer vacation or home from college for the holidays. It was almost like being mothered by her all over again. No, not an obligation. Not an obligation at all.

Maybe caring for his mother and fully embracing his role as sheriff was its own kind of absolution, of making wrongs right because he was in a position to do so and not out of guilt. He was even beginning to enjoy and depend on small town life. There was a certain peaceful ebb and flow to it as predictable as the ocean tides. Neighbors had volunteered to help him with his mother and brought them so much food he’d filled up his mother’s refrigerator
and
the one at the station. He’d had to learn to accept the help, to smile and say thank you, knowing when his neighbors needed him, he’d be there for them.