Waiting for Butterflies Page 8

  CHAPTER 10

  Sam walked into the police station, surprised how comfortable it was, like lying down in his own bed after sleeping a week in a cheap hotel.

  “Hey, L-T.” The desk sergeant greeted Sam as he passed the lobby window and punched his code into a keypad on the wall. Without looking at the officer, he raised a hand in acknowledgement and opened the door leading to the interior offices, hoping to avoid all questions or expressions of sympathy.

  The familiar scent of the department welcomed him as he walked down the hallway. When his office door came into view, he felt as if he were breaking free from a cocoon. Voices chattered inside.

  “Lieutenant!” Detective Wade, seated behind Sam’s desk, offered an outstretched hand.

  Sam accepted the handshake then jerked his thumb upward at Wade. The detective sprang out of the lieutenant’s chair

  “Are you back?” Shaw rifled through paperwork strewn on the table in front of her.

  “Maybe.” Sam took the chair behind his desk and leaned back, hands locked behind his head. His pulse quickened. His brain rewired itself. This was familiar. “So what’s going on?”

  “Still waiting on DNA from the hair sample for the Simms case. The regional crime lab is backlogged, as always.” Wade leaned against the doorframe. “So we’ve spent the last few days trying to bust an arson and burglary ring. Three vacant buildings have been burned, and on the same nights about the time fire and police were dispatched to the scenes, businesses on the opposite side of town were broken into. We were suspicious after the second one. With the third, we figured it was a definite pattern.”

  Nikki Shaw held up a crime scene photo for Wade to relay to Sam.

  “It never amazes me how smart stupid people can be sometimes.” Sam shook his head and took the photo.

  “We’ve been making progress on the arson investigation while waiting for the crime lab.” Shaw glanced from her paperwork to Sam, opened her mouth as if to say more, but stopped.

  “So, how are you doing?” Wade placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  Determined to keep his armor intact, Sam ignored the hole Wade punctured. “You need to call the crime lab and get the DNA expedited. Remind them the homicide victim was an off-duty officer.” He shuffled through a pile stacked on his desk to see what required his attention. He needed to sign time records, schedule his detectives for the shooting range to qualify their weapons, build the work schedule for next quarter. At the bottom of the pile was a subpoena for him to give an affidavit in a hit and run. He needed to get back to work, to get back to himself. “Is the chief in today?”

  “I don’t think so. I heard him say something about a budget meeting with the mayor.” Wade looked at Shaw to affirm.

  She nodded, so Sam directed his attention to the mundane paperwork in front of him. Mundane or not, it had to get done. While he struggled to focus, he sensed Nikki Shaw watching him.

  “Here.” She pushed a file across Sam’s desk. “You can go over what we have on the arson-burglary.”

  Sam grabbed the file without looking at her. He flipped through the pages, absorbing each detail as it pulled him further from his desk and deeper into the crime scene. Something was about to click. He could feel it as his brain sifted through fact after fact. His eyes narrowed to study a particular report, and then he snapped his fingers.

  “What is it?” Wade stepped behind him and read over his shoulder.

  Sam lifted the phone from the base and punched numbers.

  “What you got, L-T?” Wade shrugged at his partner. She shrugged back.

  Still, Sam gave no response.

  Wade huffed. “I hate when he does that.” His smile spoke otherwise.

  “Detective Wilson. This is Lt. Sam Blake from Cape Spring P.D. We’re investigating an apparent arson-burglary ring. You had a rash of arson and burglaries not too long ago, if I remember correctly. Did you make any arrests? No? I see. Well, I’m checking over our investigation now, and the fire marshal made some unusual remarks about the accelerant. Yours, too, huh?” Sam clenched his jaw and thrust a thumbs-up at his detectives.

  “I hate when he does that, too.” Wade grinned, crossing his arms in front of him.

  “It sounds like we need to get together on this for a joint investigation. Detectives Wade and Shaw will be in touch. You’re welcome, Detective Wilson. And thank you.”

  Sam leaned back in his chair and snickered. “I get more accomplished in twenty minutes than you jokers do in a week.”

  “Yeah, thanks to our grunt work.” Wade pointed from himself to Shaw.

  She remained silent.

  “Hey, I’m only kidding, Shaw.” Sam leaned forward to rest his arms on the desk.

  She attempted a laugh. “Yeah, I know.”

  He waited for more, but the silence lasted a moment too long for his comfort. “Well, detectives, I’m going to pick up my girls from school. I’ll be in Monday morning to talk to the chief.”

  Wade grinned like he had driven in the game-winning run. “Good to have you back.”

  Shaw cleared her throat and retrieved the file from Sam’s desk. And Lieutenant Sam Blake walked out the door, feeling less like himself with every step he took away from the office.

  “Daddy, I like the way Mommy makes mac and cheese better.” Olivia pushed the pasta around on her plate with her fork.

  Rage, like a river of molten lava, poured through Rachel’s head. She hated when Olivia talked about their mom, and she did it all the time. Mommy sang to me . . . Mommy doesn’t want you to do that . . . Mommy says . . .

  “Olivia, just eat it. It’s the kind out of the box, the cheesiest. It’s good.” With an exaggerated scooping motion, her dad filled his fork and put it in his mouth to demonstrate how delicious it was.

  “By the way, Rachel, you left your computer on again.” He waited for her response, but she scowled instead. “You need to shut it down when you’re not using it.”

  “Mommy doesn’t make it out of a box.” Olivia’s whine intensified.

  Rachel’s insides rumbled. The red-hot lava bubbled up, reaching the crucial point of eruption. “Shut up, Olivia! Stop talking about Mom all the time like she’s still here!”

  Her dad’s head snapped in her direction. “Rachel, stop—”

  “I can’t take it!” She screamed at her dad then turned toward her sister and leaned in, face-to-face, nose-to-nose. “She’s dead. Dead! And she’s not coming back to play with you, and she doesn’t sing to you, and she doesn’t talk to you—”

  “She does too talk to me!”

  “Hey! Hey!” Her dad tried to intervene but Rachel refused to allow it.

  “I’m sick of it. She lives in some fantasy land—and you—you just sit there and let her! You have to make her stop this!”

  Her sister’s chin quivered. Rachel shook with fury. And her dad, all he did was look from her to Olivia and back at her again. Useless.

  “Being a detective is so much easier than parenting.” He inhaled and held it. “Livi, Rachel is right.”

  Finally.

  Betrayal covered Olivia’s face. “No, she’s not, Daddy! She doesn’t know!”

  Tears spilled from her little sister’s eyes, and Rachel didn’t care, but her dad apparently did. He pushed back his chair and held out his arms. He’d melted, of course.

  “Come here, Sissy.”

  Olivia climbed on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. As she buried her face into his shoulder, hiccups shook her body. Rachel wanted to vomit.

  “Okay, honey. It’s okay.”

  She erupted again. “No, it’s not, Dad. It’s not okay. I don’t believe you! You’re as bad as she is, living in your own little world, ignoring everything around you, so you don’t have to deal with it. At least she has an excuse—she’s five!”

  “Hey—” Her dad issued a warning she chose to ignore.

  “Mommy is too here.” Sobs choked Olivia’s weak attempt at one final argument.

  Rachel
shoved back her chair and stood up, glaring at her sister. “Oh yeah?” Her voice cracked. Suddenly, she didn’t have enough oxygen. Her ears pounded; her eyes blurred. But she couldn’t retreat now. “If Mom is really here, then why does she only talk to you? Why—”

  She was crumbling. The eruption had weakened her stony exterior and the walls were caving in. It was her turn to fight back tears.

  “Why . . . doesn’t she talk to me?” She threw her napkin on her plate and raced to her bedroom.

  From the empty seat at the dining room table, Maggie watched her family unravel.

  Sam paused at Rachel’s bedroom on his way to tuck in Olivia, surprised the door was closed and the lights were out already. After the dinner theatrics, he spent the rest of the evening rehearsing the conversation he knew he must have with Rachel, though he wasn’t sure how. Such an outburst from her was a rarity, but she was right on all accounts. Olivia needed to stop pretending, he needed to make her, and it was driving them both crazy. But there was one thing Rachel said that he didn’t want to think about, that he couldn’t shake because at some level he wondered it as well. What if Maggie really were there? And if she were, why couldn’t he know it, too? He shook his head. It was official. He was losing it.

  He turned the doorknob and opened Rachel’s door enough to cast a sliver of light from the hallway into her room. He peeked in, trying to detect if she were faking sleep. He wasn’t sure. “Rachel?” He approached her bed. She didn’t move but her breathing quickened. “Honey, I’m sorry. You’re right. I want you to know I know that. I promise I’ll try to deal with Olivia and this pretending thing, okay?” He waited in case she responded. When she didn’t, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Rach.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Her whisper was salve to his wounded heart. He brushed his hand over her hair, hoping she would open her eyes, say more, but she didn’t. He rested his lips on her forehead and absorbed the moment before leaving to tuck in Olivia.

  Sam found Olivia arranging the stuffed animals on her bed.

  “Okay, Lambie, you get to sleep up here by my pillow next to Horsey.” She put her mouth against Lambie’s ear, and her voice lowered to a raspy whisper. “Because you’re my favorite.” Then she picked up a bear and placed him on the other side of her pillow. “Teddy, you go right here. And Baby, I’ll hold you.” She wrapped her arm around a stuffed doll wearing a diaper and a blue bonnet. Then she patted the edge of her bed and addressed them all. “We’ll save this place for Mommy. She can lay with us when she gets tired.”

  The pulse at Sam’s temple throbbed. He hadn’t planned to follow through on his promise to Rachel so soon. Besides, his motive for ignoring Olivia’s obvious state of denial was somewhat selfish. Yes, he would feel more comfortable interrogating a treacherous criminal. And yes, he enjoyed Olivia sleeping in her own bed once she believed Maggie was with her. But forcing his little girl to admit her mommy really was gone felt cruel. For three days he’d watched Olivia wrestle with understanding that her mom could die and would never come back. She’d grieved from a place so deep he couldn’t bear to face it himself. Then, after the funeral, Olivia had changed. How could he force her back there, back to that despair?

  “Olivia, honey, are you ready to be tucked in?”

  She hopped onto her bed. “Say bedtime prayers with me.”

  The muscles across Sam’s shoulders tensed. He did good night kisses and tucking in. Maggie did bedtime stories and prayers. “Why don’t you say your prayers after I turn out the light?”

  “Pray, Daddy.” She pouted.

  Sam cleared his throat and looked away. “I’m not very good at praying, Livi.” He pulled up the covers and tucked them in all around her.

  “It’s just talking to God. That’s what Mommy says. Just talk to God like he’s your friend sitting right in front of you.”

  He had no escape. “Well, how about you show me, and I’ll listen.”

  Her cheeks blossomed as he kneeled at the edge of her bed. She clasped her hands together, fingers interlocked, and squeezed her eyes closed.

  Despite stretching his already-thin patience even thinner, Olivia’s long list of blessings touched a tender place in his heart. “Amen,” Sam echoed when she finished.

  “Butterfly kisses.” Olivia presented her cheek.

  He leaned in close and blinked several times, brushing his eyelashes against her face.

  “Eskimo.” She ordered and he obeyed.

  “Puppy love.”

  Sam rubbed his cheek against hers.

  “I love you, Daddy.”

  Olivia looked up with trusting eyes, and every part of Sam wanted to hold her, to protect her from everything bad in the world. But he couldn’t.

  “Love you, too.” He hesitated, trying to decide how to begin. “Livi?”

  “Hmm?” She snuggled into the blankets.

  “Is, uh—” He cleared his throat again. “Is . . . Mommy here?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” That was not the answer he had anticipated. Now what? He fought the temptation to abandon the conversation and retreat while he had the chance. He forced himself to try again. “Where is she?”

  Olivia shrugged and rolled onto her side to face him. “Maybe she’s in Rachel’s room. Or in your room.”

  “Is that where Mommy goes sometimes?”

  “Mommy goes there all the time. She goes everywhere in the house, so she can be with us.”

  “Hm.” His ears grew warm. “So, do you think she’ll be coming in here soon?”

  “She always helps me go to sleep. She rocks and tells me stories. Sometimes she sings to me.” Olivia shifted to her back and hugged her doll to her chest. “If I wake up at night, she lays with me.”

  Her answers were specific, disturbing, but Sam’s curiosity was peaked. “Do you, uh, see her?”

  Olivia pursed her lips and shook her head. “I hear her, in my head not my ears. She tells me when she’s in the rocker. And she asks if she can lay by me.”

  “Does she ever say anything? I mean, besides stories or singing? Does she say anything important?” His words sounded foreign to him. Who was asking these questions?

  Olivia yawned. “She wants me to keep my room clean. To help you.”

  Sam surveyed the bedroom. Books were tucked into the bookcase. Markers were stored in their plastic container on the desk. Even the toy box closed all the way with no doll clothes or plastic animals bulging from underneath the lid. Olivia moved her stuffed lamb closer on her pillow. “She said maybe she saw Heaven, but she isn’t sure.” She turned to face Sam. “Mommy said it’s gonna be beautiful.”

  Hairs tingled on the back of his neck. Olivia’s imagination was remarkable, tempting even him to get caught up in her make-believe. But this had to end. “Honey, you know, people who believe in Heaven think that’s where they go when they die.”

  “I know.”

  “And, your mom, well, if she were to see Heaven, it would mean she would have to die.”

  “She did die, Daddy.” Her blue eyes were wide and honest.

  What was going on in Olivia’s little mind? How could he help her sort this out? “Well, if you know Mommy died, why do you keep pretending she’s still here?” It was a gentle question, but he couldn’t mask the accusation in his voice.

  “I’m not pretending. She is here.” Olivia squeezed her fists as she hugged her doll tighter. “She died. She just didn’t go away. She doesn’t know why.” Her voice grew softer. She was tired of the debate.

  Sam let her win. “Well, maybe we’ll talk some more another day.” He leaned in to kiss her a final time. “Good night, sissy.”

  “Daddy, Mommy wishes you and Rachel weren’t so sad.”

  Sam let the words linger. He caressed his little girl’s hair, twirled a blonde curl around his finger. So innocent. “Me, too. We just miss her. A lot.”

  “I miss her, too, Daddy.” Her whisper twisted his heart. “I know she’s here, but it’s
not the same. But I try not to be sad because I don’t want to make her sad.”

  “Oh, she understands.” His hand curved around her delicate cheek. “She knows how much we miss her. And I bet she misses us, too.”

  What was he saying? His mixed message would add to Olivia’s confusion. He clarified. “If there is a Heaven, Mommy is there, looking down. So even if we can’t see her, maybe she can see us.”

  Olivia narrowed her stare. “There is a Heaven, but Mommy’s not there.” She rolled to her side. Her back faced him. “She said she’s standing behind you.”

  Sam sprang up and cursed under his breath. “Olivia, it’s time for sleep.” He turned off the lamp beside her bed and hurried out of the room.

  CHAPTER 11

  It was Saturday and Maggie was happy. The weekdays had been lonely with Rachel and Olivia at school. She anticipated a day of family activity bringing her home to life, even though she was only a spectator watching from the sidelines. The sun shone through the living room windows, and noise from the girls’ bedrooms told Maggie they were awake. Sam, on the other hand, was still sleeping soundly, Maggie guessed. She spent most of the night in their bedroom, watching him lie awake until the early hours. She recognized the deep concentration on his face and wondered what thoughts were churning inside his head, keeping him from the rest he needed.

  She reflected on the events of the last evening, and though it was painful to watch the personal battles each of them fought, she hoped it was the beginning of her family coming together. Sam had admitted to Rachel, and to himself, that he needed to stop avoiding tough conversations. And he seemed a little more willing to listen to Olivia. Maybe there was hope for healing.

  Her plans for the day focused on Rachel. She was determined to reach her. Rachel admitted she was hurt because only Olivia had a connection with Maggie. Surely that would give Maggie some kind of opening, a way in.

  She approached the bedroom doorway. Rachel was awake, lying on her back with both arms at her sides, music escaping her earphones as she stared at the ceiling, oddly calm. She held something in her fingers, rolling it back and forth. As Maggie moved closer, Rachel raised her hand and studied the object pinched between her thumb and finger. Maggie went numb. It was a pill she did not recognize. Instinct took over.