Under His Wings(10)

A brilliant and hot surge of anger welled up from a desperate and wild place in her spirit. The rage spilled over, incinerating the grief. No, a voice roared, bouncing off the walls of her mind and resounding in her soul.

Death hadn’t defeated her. The man she’d loved turning into a monster before her eyes hadn’t broken her. Learning to walk and function again hadn’t beaten her. Neither would this unknown adversary. She’d battled physical, mental and emotional foes for this slice of life. No matter what, she would go down swinging, punching and cursing to keep her piece of normal.

That’s what fighters did.

* * * * *

“Do you know what today is?”

Tamar glanced up and smiled at her fellow teacher and friend Theresa Hanson—or Resa as she was nicknamed. The slender blonde’s infectious grin invited others to join in the laughter that bubbled out of her like a champagne fountain. If the teacher wasn’t so nice, her perkiness would be downright annoying.

“You mean besides the last day of school?” Tamar asked, returning to the task of cleaning her classroom before the janitorial crew came in to store the desks and chairs for the next ten weeks of summer vacation. Unlike the other teachers at Grace Crossings’ only middle school, she didn’t look forward to this time of year. She missed the clamor of children’s voices, the homework, projects and lesson plans that kept her busy. Her mother had died right after Tamar had graduated from college and, as the only child of an only child, she had no family to visit over the break. The distant relatives she did know of were too distant by blood, time and miles to drop in on.

“Yes, besides that,” Resa said, bouncing—did the woman walk anywhere?—across the room to remove posters of Ghandi, Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy. “Although the last day should be a national holiday. I petitioned Congress, but haven’t heard back yet.” Tamar snickered and Resa giggled. “I really did. I’m expecting the FBI to show up at my door any day to see what sort of nutcase actually submitted the request.”

“Hey, as long as the agent looks like Jason Statham, I wouldn’t even put up a protest at being frisked and manhandled.”

“Amen to that, sister,” Resa crowed. “But back to the significance of today.” She paused for affect, whipped around and held her pointer finger in the air as if requesting silence from an esteemed assembly. “It is get-stinkin’-drunk-off-your-ass-because-we-don’t-have-to-go-to-work-or-deal-with-kids-for-the-next-two-months day!”

Tamar burst out laughing. “You are so bad,” she admonished, but her huge grin ruined the scolding.

Resa waved off the reprimand. “Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m like that little devil on your shoulder who just says what you’re thinking. So how about it?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling with deviltry and merriment. “Several of the teachers are going to meet at Paulo’s for dinner and drinks. Maybe head to Boston afterward for some dancing.” Resa performed an impressive pirouette in her pink flip-flops. She followed it up with a hip grind that would have made Dirty Dancing’s Johnny Castle proud.

Even as she smiled at Resa’s gyrations, dread coiled in Tamar’s stomach like a rattler’s body prepared to strike at the most inopportune moment. Paulo’s—the one bar in town—had been a favorite hangout of hers and Kyle’s, her ex-fiancé.

Her brain transmitted the assurance Kyle was long gone, but her gut cramped and her heart pounded. It didn’t take much these days to jog her nerves or memories of him. Jesus, she was damn tired of being scared. She hadn’t laid eyes on her ex in well over a year, but in the last four weeks the hairs on the back of her neck tingled as if someone watched her…followed her. She’d felt it while grocery shopping, leaving her physical therapist’s office, exiting school.

Foolish, really. Her ex had left the state a year and a half ago after she’d threatened to report him to the authorities for domestic violence. And since the bruises from his last round of vicious abuse had barely faded, she’d had the evidence. Rather than face the criminal consequences, he’d fled Grace Crossings and the state of Massachusetts.

The bruises had disappeared with time. But the wounds of fear, shame and betrayal were branded on her soul. The person she’d trusted above all others—aside from her doctors—had hurt her when she’d been weak and defenseless.

After all this time, had he returned to torment her again?

“Tamar?” She met Resa’s concerned stare. “You okay?”