Finish Line
All along the twenty-six-mile route through Atlanta, spectators and supporters had cheered on the runners, but those congregated near the finish line were especially enthusiastic.
When Emory ran across it and the announcer boomed her name, introducing her as the organizer of the fund-raising race, she received a roar of approval. She was then thronged by photographers from TV stations and print news agencies, all vying for a sound bite. In her breathless state, she kept them brief.
She received pats on the back and hugs from other runners. One of her patients, a six-year-old boy, shyly approached with his parents and asked for her autograph. A group of war veterans, who’d gone the distance in wheelchairs, lined up to high five and salute her.
Her body was aching. Her right foot was hurting to the point of making her hobble. She was fatigued to near collapse, but she was exhilarated. For so many reasons, finishing this race represented a victory of mind, body, and spirit.
During the past six months, much had changed in her life.
At the conclusion of the police investigation into Alice’s last few hours, a family member had claimed her body and had it transported to their hometown in Tennessee for burial. Emory had had no contact with the family.
She’d had Jeff’s remains cremated and forewent a service of any kind. An outpouring of grief would have been hypocritical. She received only a handful of condolence cards. Her polite acknowledgments were as obligatory as the cards themselves. His belongings were sealed into boxes and delivered to a refuge for the homeless. The only sadness she felt was for Jeff himself. He had lived—and died—joylessly and lovelessly.
She sold their house quickly and moved into a townhouse in a charming gated community in Buckhead.
She and Dr. Neal James had invited a married couple, he an OB-GYN, she an infertility specialist, to join their partnership. They had been excellent additions; the clinic was thriving.
Norman and Will were charged, tried, and convicted of statutory rape. They received the maximum sentence, due in large part to Lisa’s courageous courtroom testimony. She and Pauline had moved into an apartment in Drakeland, paid for by Emory. Too proud to take charity without “chippin’ in,” as Pauline put it, she worked mornings at a nursing home, helping to prepare and serve the noon meal.
Lisa kept her weekend job at Subway. Her sessions with a counselor who specialized in sexual abuse victims were also underwritten by Emory, who considered the payments an investment in the woman Lisa would become.
She remained near the finish line a while longer, extending congratulations to runners as they came in. She promised an interview to the host of a local TV morning talk show. “I’ll have my people call your people,” he said, and she laughed.
And then, “Good race, Doc.”
She turned, and there he was, standing directly behind her.
The carnival atmosphere at the finish line receded, leaving nothing in the spectrum of her senses except his voice, his face, and the remarkable eyes, that were, as always, steady on her.
He was dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans and a plain white shirt with the cuffs of the sleeves rolled back. He looked wonderfully, ruggedly beautiful, and she wanted to strike him and climb him in equal measure.
They stared at each other for so long, she became aware of attracting the curiosity of onlookers. “Thank you. It was nice of you to stop and say so.” Although her heart was breaking, she turned and started walking away.
He fell into step beside her. “Where’s your car parked?”
“A few blocks from here.”
“My truck’s closer.”
Without argument, she let him guide her, still not quite believing that this wasn’t a dream.
“Quite a turnout,” he remarked as they threaded their way through one of the designated parking areas.
“Since this is the first race benefitting this particular charity, I’m amazed by the support and the numbers of runners we had sign up. We raised seven hundred fifty thousand dollars in pledges.”
“Seven hundred fifty-two.” She looked up at him. He said, “I didn’t get my pledge in until this morning.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Here we are.”
“You’re back to driving your pickup, I see.”
“Nobody’s after me.”
He helped her up into the passenger seat, then went around and got in.
She said, “As you leave the lot, take a left.”
But he didn’t turn on the ignition. He just sat there, staring through the windshield. She would turn to stone before she asked where he’d been, what he’d been doing, so she waited him out, and after a time he turned his head toward her.
“Rebecca told me she’d written to you.”
“She got my address from Jack Connell. She wanted to thank me for ‘knocking sense into you.’”
He snuffled. “Sounds like her.” He arched his eyebrow. “She reached you through Connell, huh? She mention him in her letter?”
“Several times.”
“Uh-huh. I get it, too. From both of them. I think they have a thing.”
“Really?”
He grumbled a swear word. “That would serve me right, I guess.” He waited a beat before continuing. “Sarah’s school orchestra performed in the city park on St. Patrick’s Day. I went out for the concert.”
“I’m sure she was thrilled.”
“Seemed to be. I stayed a week. Ate a lot of fish.”
“You don’t like fish.”
“Even less now. I got enough omega-3 that week to last me the rest of my life.”
She wasn’t ready to smile yet. Keeping her voice curt, she asked, “So you and Connell stay in touch?”
“I think he wants to adopt me.”
“He adopted you a long time ago.”
“Only good thing about his hovering was that he kept me informed on how it all went down when you came back from North Carolina.”
That snapped the rein she’d been keeping on her temper. “Then he’s a glorified gossip.”
“Practically an old woman.”
“If you wanted to know how it was going down, why weren’t you here to see for yourself?”
“Look, I know you’re pissed. You have every right to kick me in the ass and tell me to get lost.”
“If my foot didn’t hurt—”
“I couldn’t come to you until all that crap—yours and mine—was done with. You can understand that, Doc. I know you can.”
Their gazes battled. Hers was the first to fall away. “It took me a while, but I did come to understand it. You would have been an additional complication, something requiring an explanation, when I already had much to explain and deal with.”
“Exactly.”
“But that also gave you a very convenient excuse to disappear again and stay gone.”
“I had shit to work through, too. My reentry wasn’t going to be easy, and I didn’t want you subjected to the heat.”
“I could have helped you.”
“No, you couldn’t. I had to work things out on my own. First, I had to figure out what I was going to do.”
“Return to the FBI?”
“No. Jack asked me, but I turned him down flat.”
“So then…?”
“I’m, uh, building stuff. More than bookshelves and sheds. I’ve affiliated with a group of contractors. We go in after natural disasters. Tornadoes, earthquakes. Like that. We get shelters up fast. Repair homes, schools, hospitals, whatever.”
“Build stuff.”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t embellish. The inflection in his voice didn’t change much either, but it didn’t have to for her to discern that he was excited and gratified. The work was perfectly suited to him. However, she knew better than to make too much of it.
“Sounds good.”
“Feels good.”
He took another long look out the front windshield. She gave him the time to organize his thoughts, and when he was ready to resume, he propped his left arm on the steering wheel and turned in his seat to face her.
“Sam Knight contacted me through Jack. He told me Grange was going through a hard time because of…well, you know why. Last week, I went to see him.”
“He was in awe of you.”
“Well, he now understands why I didn’t like anybody looking to me as a hero. He was pretty eaten up, and at first he refused to talk about what happened up there that day. I know that feeling, and told him I did, and after that he opened up. He said he was finding it hard to live with himself for pulling the trigger.”
He paused and looked deeply into her eyes. “And I heard myself asking him, ‘Could you live with yourself if you hadn’t?’” He let the question resonate for several seconds.
“I didn’t plan on saying that, Doc. The words came from somewhere other than conscious thought. In fact, I think they came from you. But there they were, and saying them aloud made me realize that I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t pulled the trigger that day in Westboro either. I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t stopped him. And, just like that, after four years I was freed of it. I have you to thank.”
For a time, she was too moved to speak. She had to clear her throat before she could. “And the people who bullied him?”
“I’m leaving them to their own miserable selves. Their meanness might catch up with them one day, or not. But it won’t come from me.”
Her heart swelled with love, but there was still one thing she must know. “That day, that awful last day, before the ambulance arrived and you were holding me, you whispered something into my hair. What did you say?”
“I asked you not to give up on me.”
“But then you disappeared, Hayes.”
“For the last time. I never will again.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. If it’s left to me, I’ve spent my last day and night without you. But whatever happens next, it’s your call.”
She kept him in suspense for all of three or four seconds. “I don’t feel like driving. Will you give me a lift home?”
“Happy to.” But then he didn’t move, just sat there, drinking her in with his eyes.
“Are you going to start the truck?”
“Not yet, Doc.” He reached across, cupped the back of her head in his large hand, and pulled her to him. “First I’m gonna kiss you till I can’t breathe.”
He always did what he said.