Here With Me (36 page)

He couldn’t think. It was too much. And the
noise from outside the window was deafening. “I don’t
understand.”

“I know about your wife and how she died. I
know about the two men who’ve already died. More important, I know
who and where the third man is.”

He grabbed her hand. His head was beating so
rapidly that he thought it would jump right out of his chest. “What
are you saying?”

“He’s a circuit judge. Funny, isn’t it?” she
asked, looking disgusted. “A man like that getting to cast judgment
on others.”

“How do you know?”

She shook her head and looked nervously
toward the window. “George, you don’t have time for this. Just know
that I know. And I will take you to him. But we have to go
now.”

He couldn’t leave now. He had to see Melody.
Had to explain why he hadn’t told her the truth. Had to explain why
he was leaving.

She’d been left behind by so many others.

“I can’t go now. I need to talk to Melody
first.”

“George, you don’t have that choice. If you
wait, if you delay, you’ll never be able to go back. It’s now or
never.”

The screeching and screaming from outside was
so loud he covered his ears. It was a horrific sound and he knew
that he’d only heard a similar noise one time in his life. Right
before there had been complete and utter silence. Right before the
footprints had appeared outside the changing station. Genevieve
wasn’t lying.

He grabbed for the clothes that Genevieve had
tossed on the bed. It took everything he had to pull on his jeans.
He was sweating like a pig after the effort. “Untie this,” he said,
motioning to the strings around his neck. She did and he let the
gown fall on the floor. He slipped one arm through the sleeve of
his shirt but let the shirt just hang loose from his body. He
wasn’t even going to attempt to put his other arm through.

How the hell was he going to manage the
journey back? The first time had almost killed him and he’d been
whole. “Let’s go,” he said.

Genevieve nodded and held the door open. The
hallway outside his room was dimly lit, too, and absolutely empty.
He’d taken five steps when suddenly, it was as if all the noise in
the world had suddenly been swallowed up.

“It must be now,” Genevieve whispered. She
grabbed his arm and with amazing strength, pulled him to the door
at the end of the hallway. In his heart, he knew what he was going
to see.

And he was right. When she opened it, he was
looking at a small patch of grapevines that practically butted up
to the building. Between the rows of vines, the saturated ground
was a mass of mud. But leading away, as clear as if they’d been
carved in dry stone, were the footprints.

He had to go. Had to fully pay his debt to
Hannah. He’d failed to protect her once and she paid the ultimate
price. He could not fail her again.

Tears ran down his face. He’d loved two women
in his life. One had been brutally torn away from him. The other,
he was about to leave. She would hate him for that. Probably
already hated him for lying to her. “Will you tell her,” he begged
of Genevieve, “will you tell her that I never meant to deceive her?
Will you tell her that I loved her?”

“Yes. Hurry. Go.”

Forgive me, Melody.
He looked up into
the swirling dark gray clouds and for the first time in thirty-four
years, he prayed.
Protect her and the child, God. It’s the only
thing that matters.

He took his first step. He felt the ground
shake and he could smell the sweet scent of the lilacs that grew
outside his back door. He took his second step.

***

When Melody woke up, her grandmother was
holding her hand. They were in the living room and a candle burned
bright on the piano. It was daylight but the sky was so gray that
no natural light came in through the windows. She didn’t know how
long she’d slept, only knew that when she’d closed her eyes, she
prayed that somehow she would survive. She had to for the sake of
her child.

George was gone. Had to be, by now.

Her grandmother and her aunt had told her
everything. Melody had demanded it. They sat in the waiting room of
the hospital and she had listened and known that as crazy as it all
sounded, it was all true. She remembered all the little things that
she’d dismissed. The odd use of language, the fascination with
radio, the inability to drive a car or to operate a microwave.

And when the women had finished, she had sat
for a while longer, hoping and praying that he hadn’t lost too much
blood, that he would be saved, knowing in her heart that if he was,
he was still lost to her. He was a man of honor and could do no
less than honor the memory of his wife by bringing her killer to
justice.

If she’d needed more proof, it had been
waiting for her when she’d finally come home from the hospital.
She’d gone straight upstairs, intending to remove George’s things,
knowing that she couldn’t bear to open a drawer and see the things
they’d bought at Target or the silly straw hat that he wore when he
rode Brontë. It had taken less than a minute for her to find the
photograph of her grandmother, the one George had taken with his
camera. On it were the same thin scratches in the corner that were
on the photograph that hung on her wall. The photograph that her
aunt Genevieve had told her was Sarah and John Beckett—the
photograph George had taken before he’d left his own time.

She’d put the photograph back in the drawer,
unable to look at it, unable to throw it away. She’d left her room,
come downstairs, and curled up on the couch. Sometime later, her
grandmother had come in and sat with her. They hadn’t talked, had
just sat quietly, each lost in her own painful thoughts, and
finally, she had slept.

She heard a noise on the porch and she turned
on her side, away from the door. She closed her eyes, pretending to
be asleep. She didn’t want company.

“Melody.”

She flipped over, flat onto her back.

He smiled at her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she
yelled. “You’re not supposed to be here.” His shirt was hanging
open, unbuttoned, one arm in a sleeve, the other cradled to his
side. “Oh, my God,” she said.

“Calm down,” he pleaded. He pulled the loose
shirt tighter around his body, hiding his shoulder from her view.
He glanced at her grandmother. “Good morning, Pearl.”

Her grandmother was crying. “Good morning,
George. I must say I’m very glad to see you.” She stood up and
walked toward the hallway. “I imagine you’d appreciate some
privacy.”

Melody struggled to sit up on the couch.
“Where is Aunt Genevieve? You’ve got to get out of here.”

He shook his head. “It’s too late.”

She put her hand over her mouth, terribly
afraid she was going to be sick. “Oh, no. The storm passed before
you were ready to go. That’s it, isn’t it? Oh, George, I’m so
sorry.”

He took another three steps toward her and
sank down on his knees in front of the couch. “I started to go. I
could have made it.” He rubbed a hand across his face. He looked so
tired. “I was wrong, Melody. I should have told you the truth. I’m
so sorry.”

“George. Do you understand what this means?
Aunt Genevieve said you only have one chance to go back.”

“Please, just listen. Hannah was right. She
told me that vengeance will not heal the pain. But you know what
does?” He reached for her hand. “Love. Love heals. I love you,
Melody. And I want to stay with you and help you raise your
daughter. I want to be here, now.”

She thought her heart would burst with joy.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she said. “And I knew that for the sake
of my child, I was going to have to get up every day and eat and
work and pretend I was living. But I didn’t know how I was going to
be able to do it.” She pulled their linked hands up to her lips and
kissed the back of his hand. “I couldn’t ask you to stay here with
me. I couldn’t ask.”

He smiled at her. “You didn’t have to.” He
placed his hand on her belly. “Everything still fine?”

She nodded. “Actually, I had a little time to
think while somebody was in surgery. I know you’re not crazy about
the name Jingle. What do you think about Sarah Miguella Tyler?”

“Sarah Miguella Tyler.” He repeated it,
almost reverently.

“You came because of Sarah, because of
Miguel. I want to honor them.”

He couldn’t hold back the tears. They rolled
down his cheeks and he made no effort to hide them. She opened her
arms and he gathered her close.

“I love you, George Tyler.”

He pulled his head back and looked her in the
eye. “I love you more than I ever thought possible. Will you marry
me, Mrs. Johnson?”

As they rocked in the porch swing on a warm,
early October night, George kept one arm around his wife. In the
other, he cradled his one-month-old daughter. She was up to nine
pounds and he swore he’d seen a smile yesterday.

He looked up when he heard the front door
open. Genevieve stood there. She plucked a pink feather from behind
her ear and brushed the soft part against Sarah’s baby face. “I
missed you, pumpkin,” she said, before nodding at Bernard, who sat
in his chair, across the porch, like he so often did in the
evenings. “It’s the middle of the crush, Bernard,” she said, her
tone teasing. “Shouldn’t you be out fretting over the grapes?”

Bernard shook his head. “Give me a break,
Genevieve. This is the first chance we’ve had to sit in two weeks.”
He inclined his head toward George. “Besides,” he added, sounding
satisfied, “my partner already took care of that.”

Melody sat up and smiled at her aunt, who’d
been gone for several days. “Safe travels?” she asked.

Genevieve nodded. “The Becketts send their
love. Their boy just turned one and Sarah’s pregnant again. She’s
proud as can be of her family and I swear, he’s one of the happiest
men I’ve ever seen.”

Through Genevieve, they’d been able to
reconnect with Sarah and John. “No happier than me,” George
said.

“I told them about Pearl,” Genevieve
said.

They’d buried Pearl a little over two months
ago. The days leading up to her death had been painful and sad but
there’d been moments of quiet joy. They’d all be there. Even Tilly.
The woman had been sober, thoughtful, and mother and daughter had
shared much. George and Melody had been by Pearl’s side when she’d
passed from this life to the next and they had taken comfort when
she’d told them that she was content to go now that she knew
everything was in good hands.

“It’s over,” Genevieve said suddenly.

“What’s over?” George asked. Keeping up with
Genevieve was always a challenge.

“He’s dead. The man who killed Hannah.”

George felt his heart lurch and he handed
Sarah to Melody. “How?”

“Pack of wild dogs attacked him. Crazy how
things like that happen.”

“George?” Melody asked, her voice filled with
concern.

“You don’t need to feel bad,” Genevieve said.
“You didn’t ask that it be done. I just thought you should
know.”

It was finally over. Justice had been
served.

Melody leaned toward him. He stretched out
his arm and pulled her and Sarah close. “She knows, George,” she
whispered. “Somehow, Hannah knows.”

He smiled. The fall breeze carried the scent
of freshly brewed tea.

THE END

Like many writers, my love affair with books
began at an early age. I was a frequent visitor to the library in
my little town and while I read many types of books, I was drawn to
those featuring feisty heroines in dangerous situations.

While I was content to borrow some books,
there were others that were worthy of my hard-earned allowance
money. Trixie Belden. Nancy Drew. I couldn’t wait to see what kind
of trouble those girls were getting into and how they were going to
solve the mystery.

A few years later, when I was in high school,
I discovered romance novels and I was hooked.

For a few years, my pleasure reading was
curtailed as I got married, raised two daughters, worked full time,
and finished graduate school.

Now, I’m thrilled to be able to create my own
stories that have exciting characters, complex situations, and
satisfying endings! I hope you enjoy!

Web Site: http://www.BeverlyLong.com

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