a reason to live(3)

Once Sloan’s coffin was loaded, her mother and sister turned toward the line of officers. What they did next almost took Shane to his knees. Both women shored up their backbone in the face of Emma Jane’s death and presented a united front to Shane and the other officers; saluting back for their fallen daughter and sister.

Jesus.

Shane squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight. When he opened them again, he met soft, pale-green eyes. Eyes that held sorrow and understanding. Eyes that told him she would forgive him for her sister’s death even if he couldn’t forgive himself.

When those same eyes started moving closer to him, their intent clear, Shane instantly broke from their pull and stepped back from the formation. Then he turned without another glance and headed for the airport and a bottle of whiskey.





One


Don’t Shit a Bullshitter





Twelve months later . . .



“Hey, Em,” I whispered to my baby sister’s grave. “I know it’s been two weeks since I was last here and I’m sorry for that. My life’s kind of out of control right now.” I took a deep breath and tried to assemble my thoughts. That wasn’t easy considering my situation.

It had been a year this week since Emma Jane’s death. Every time I came here or thought about her, the knot in my chest would constrict and I fought back tears. After everything we’d been through growing up, losing her the way we did was still inconceivable. I knew she was gone, but I swore I could hear her voice so clearly sometimes that I turned around, expecting to see her standing behind me.

“I found the letters you wrote from Afghanistan while I was packing this week. It’s still so hard to accept you’re gone, pipsqueak.”

A gentle breeze swept over my face as I stared down at her grave. It felt like someone playing with my hair, and I could almost believe she was there with me.

Scanning the view of the mountains in the distance, I took a deep breath. Most days, it was loud inside my head with all things I wished I’d said to her when I’d had the chance, all the things I should have said but never did.

“God, Em, I wish you were here,” I whispered. “Your death has given me so much clarity about my life,” I admitted. “I finally walked away from Jerry. I realized you were right; I do deserve to be with a man who will always be there for me and consider my feelings in all things. Even at nineteen, you saw Jerry for who he was—a boy masquerading as a man.”

I knew why she was so astute at her young age. You didn’t live through what we did and not come out of it a whole lot wiser about men.

Brushing a leaf off her headstone, I tried to remember her voice. I’d had her picture etched into the granite, so when Momma or I visited we could always see her bright eyes. Looking at them now, I could tell they were laughing at me, saying, “I told you so.”

“You know it’s funny, Em, but all that soul-searching reminded me of something I’d forgotten. Do you remember when you were little and we watched that movie about the girls who wrote down a list of qualities they wanted in a man, and then they wished hard for it to come true?” I chuckled at the memory. I could still see Emma clearly writing her own list. “What I never told you, since I was older and didn’t want you to think your big sister wasn’t cool, was that I made my own list that day. I wished for someone brave and loyal, someone who wouldn’t lay a hand on me, of course, and for love so profound that time would stand still in the face of its presence.” I smiled as I recalled my childish, teenage wish. “I knew at the time it was silly to wish for something that couldn’t happen. But I have to tell you if I could have dreams come true, besides having you back, I’d wish for that man to walk into my life so he could help me.”

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly before I spoke the next words out loud.

“I’m in trouble, Em, and not the kind of problem that ice cream can fix, either,” I finally admitted as my bottom lip trembled. If only ice cream could fix the danger I was in as it did a skinned knee.

After years of being on the receiving end of an abusive stepfather, I obtained a degree in counseling and now dedicated my life to saving children just like Emma Jane and myself. I couldn’t sit idly by knowing there were other monsters out there like Richard, other helpless children like my sister and myself suffering because of them. So for the past four years, I’ve worked as a liaison between Child Protective Services and the court system.

In the course of my job, I evaluated and counseled children who were suspected of neglect or worse. If I discovered during my counseling sessions they were being abused, I reported my findings—along with any evidence—and the custody of the child was revoked or changed. Because of this, I was threatened from time to time.