CHAPTER 3
Dewitt, NY
Muscles aching, Laney settled into the bath with a contented sigh. After the self-defense class, she’d stopped by the Kung Fu school for a little sparring.
The plan had been to stay for a half hour, tops, and then get right back to her papers. But Sifu had decided to run a bracket. Everyone paired up and the winners fought the winners of the other pairings until only one remained.
She’d tried to beg off, knowing if she didn’t, she’d be up all night grading. But then one of the new guys made a snarky comment about women getting black belts due to affirmative action, and she was in. She smiled. The victory was good, but man, it hurt.
The house phone rang just as she started to doze off. She opened her eyes with a groan. I’m not getting it. There is nothing short of fire that can get me out of this tub right now.
Kati and Max had left an hour ago to spend the week with Kati’s parents in Ohio. Quiet in this house was a rare and wonderful thing. She wasn’t giving it up, short of an emergency. A really desperate emergency.
But then thoughts of her ungraded papers replicating like rabbits in the kitchen seeped into her brain. With a muttered curse, she pulled herself from the tub and dried off. Throwing on some sweats, she did a quick run-through with the hair dryer and headed back down the stairs. Pouring a giant mug of coffee, she settled down once again in front of her papers with a sigh.
Twenty minutes later, she was deep into a paper on the role of neuropsychological deficits in violent crime when the front bell rang. She looked at the clock. Six o’clock. She couldn’t think who it could be.
Walking to the door, still holding her paper in her hand, she peeped through the transom glass next to the door. Smiling, she undid the locks and flung open the door. “Uncle Patrick. I didn’t know you were coming by.”
“I called. I guess you didn't hear me.
His strong Scottish brogue seemed more pronounced in the quiet. She’d overheard one of his parishioners describe him as a redheaded Paul Newman. She couldn’t disagree. With his strong cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and just the smallest hint of grey around the temples, he did bear an uncanny resemblance to the actor.
She stepped back to let him in. “I was in the bath. We ran a bracket at the school.”
He pulled her into a hug and held her longer than normal.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “What's wrong?”
He shook his head. “How’d you do in the bracket?”
“I won. But they gave me a good run for my money.”
“You really should get your instructor belt. You could have had it years ago.”
She waved his words away, leading him back into the kitchen. “I don’t need it. I’m happy with my current belt.”
“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the papers covering the table.
“First term papers of the year.” She held up the paper she was grading. “Believe it or not, one of my students has actually written a good paper. Miracles do happen.”
“So I’ve heard.” He smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth.
She frowned. Her uncle could always be counted on to bring up the energy level in a room. Today, though, a worried expression marred his usually upbeat countenance. And his ramrod-straight posture, a remnant of his Marine Corps past and strict exercise routine, was also noticeably absent.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
He cleared his throat. “It’s just …” He looked around the room, anywhere except at her. His eyes stopped on her coffee pot. “Could I get some of that coffee?”
Alarm bells shrieked in her head. Her uncle never drank coffee. Tea, yes, practically by the bucket. But coffee?
She paused before nodding. She knew from experience her uncle would tell her what was going on when he was ready and not before. Growing up, it had frustrated her to no end.
“Of course.” She gestured at the table. “Take a seat.”
In less than a minute, she’d placed a coffee before him. Settling back in her chair, she waited until he took a shaky sip. “Okay, you’re beginning to scare the heck out of me. What’s going on?”
He sighed and looked into her face, a veil of tears in his eyes. “It’s about Drew.”
Her stomach plummeted and she shook her head. “Drew? Nothing’s wrong with Drew. I just spoke with him this morning.”
He leaned forward in his chair, his surprise and intensity evident. “You did? What did he say?”
Laney recounted their conversation. “So I told him I’d review the paper, and get it back to him tomorrow.”
Patrick’s shoulders drooped at the words. He reached out, taking both of Laney’s hands in his. “That won’t be necessary, sweetheart. I got a call from a colleague of mine out at Saint Paul. Drew…”
Laney tried to pull her hands away and ignore the icy fingers of fear that ran down her back. “Of course it’s necessary. I promised him I’d get it back to him.”
She could feel his hands trembling, and tears now ran down his cheeks. She felt a catch at the back of her throat as her own tears threatened.
“I’m sorry, honey. Drew died this morning. He committed suicide.”