Shattered Justice Page 5

  Danny.

  To most people, he was Dan. To Kyla, ever the proper one, he was Avidan. “Mom gave us specific names for specific reasons,” Kyla always said. “I, for one, intend to use them.”

  But Danny? Only one person called him that.

  A gentle touch on his arm drew his attention, and he gazed down into the misty hazel eyes of his youngest sister. Eyes that saw so much more than others did.

  “So—” he laid his hand over hers—“Ky freaking out?”

  Annie’s weary smile spoke volumes. The funeral had been hard on all of them, but Annie and Sarah had been good friends. Losing her like this … well, it cost Annie.

  Still, Dan could see his sister was doing her best to put on, if not a happy face, at least an uplifting one. That was Annie. Always trying to help people get through the hard times with a bit of laughter.

  She shrugged. “Hey, it’s in Kyla’s contract as the oldest sister.”

  “She’s not that much older. And you’re not all that young. You’re what? Thirty-eight?”

  Annie’s arched brows warned he was treading on thin ice. “Thirty-three, you beast. You never have been good at keeping track of our ages.”

  A pang sliced through him. Sarah was the one who tracked ages and birthdays and special family events. Now that duty would fall to him.

  “And three years older is plenty, especially when you were born old.” She flicked dog hair from her pants. “She was less than pleased that I brought my dog with me.”

  For all his sister’s bluster, Annie didn’t really mind Kyla’s ways. She just loved to heckle her for them. “Kodi’s no trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, tell Sister-Mommy that. She’s convinced Kodi’s going to do something terrible. Like drool. Or shed.” She lifted another dog hair, held it up, and let it go.

  Dan watched the hair float down onto the rug. “So where is the fur ball?”

  Annie pulled herself to her full height of 5’5”, trying to be an imposing presence. At 5’9”, Kyla could assume that pose almost without trying. Though she was slim, she gave the impression of strength. An immovable force. But Annie? She weighed all of 135 pounds soaking wet. Needless to say, she wasn’t having much luck. Dan was proud of himself, though—he didn’t laugh. His sister might be small, but she came by those red glints in her cropped auburn hair honestly. She could be fierce when she was riled.

  “That fur ball, my good man, is a purebred German shepherd from the finest stock.”

  Dan swatted at her. It felt good to tease. To pretend they were just getting together for the heck of it—instead of because his world had come to an end. “Yeah. Like she came from the shelter with papers and everything.”

  She giggled, and the sound did his ragged nerves good. “Okay, but you have to admit she looks purebred.”

  No doubt about that. From the tip of her black, pointed ears to the end of her wagging black tail, Kodi was every inch and pound—ninety-five, at last weighing—German shepherd.

  “Anyway, she’s tucked away in my room, curled up in her crate.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Annie planted her hands on her hips. “Oh, let’s see. First there’s my dog. Then, here we are, at your wife’s funeral luncheon, and you’re nowhere to be found. Honestly, I think Kyla was about to have me haul Kodi out to find you.”

  Just what he needed. A certified search-and-rescue dog tracking him down in his own house.

  Annie must have read his dismay on his features, because she patted him on the shoulder. “Fear not, dear brother. I saved you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Sister-Mommy was about to do far worse than call out Kodi.”

  His eyes narrowed. “How so?”

  Annie’s tired eyes regained some of their usual twinkle. “She was all set to send Mrs. Briggs after you.”

  Dan groaned. Mrs. Briggs was one of the busiest busybodies in existence. If she’d found him, he wouldn’t have had a moment’s peace until he went back out to mingle with the crowd who’d come to pay their respects.

  But if he had to listen to one more person mumble how sorry he or she was, he’d go mad.

  “So I stepped in and promised Kyla I’d hunt you down. Which I did.” She studied the room around them. “I figured you’d be here. Sarah loved this room.”

  He let his gaze travel the bookshelves lining the walls. It was this room, a combination office and library, that had convinced him and Sarah to buy the house. When they weren’t hiking, they were here, reading, talking. And then, after the children were born, they’d spent a couple nights a week—Family Enrichment Time, Sarah called it—sitting together and reading in this room.

  Dan blinked back sudden tears. “I can still feel her here. And if I listen hard enough, I can hear her.” He swiped at his eyes with his hand. “Anyway, I needed a break, and this seemed the place to come.”

  Annie squeezed his arm. “It’s okay, Danny. I won’t try to drag you back out there. I figure you need some alone time in the face of all that … sympathy.”

  He should have known. Annie understood him better than anyone except—

  His breath caught. He closed his eyes.

  Except Sarah.

  A thin dagger of ugly truth sliced through him. There was no Sarah. Not any longer.

  Annie shifted beside him. “Did I tell you I saw a double rainbow on my drive here from Medford?”

  Sweet Annie. Doing all she could to distract him. “Twice. But then, you see rainbows wherever you are.”

  Annie waggled her fingers at him. “You’re just jealous you don’t have synesthesia.”

  Dan remembered a time when Annie didn’t think her condition was something to envy at all. When she had realized, around age ten, that everyone didn’t see the world the way she did, she thought she was crazy.

  “No one else tastes shapes or sees words in color! I’m just weird!”

  It took them a while to find a doctor who understood the condition, but when they did, he explained it as a “perceptual curiosity that occurs in roughly one in twenty-five thousand people.”

  Basically, Annie’s senses blended the real information of one sense with a perception in another. So she saw the same things other people did, but she perceived them differently. The letter D to Annie was a deep, rich blue. And that color transferred to things—or people—whose names started with D.

  Which meant when she saw or thought of Dan, she had the sense of a blue aura around him. Not an aura in any kind of spiritual or mystical sense but a physical sense.

  To Annie, that blue was as much a part of Dan as his brown hair and his height. After meeting with the doctor, suddenly Annie wasn’t crazy at all. But special.

  “Ah, well.” She pulled him back to the present as she linked her arm with his. “That’s what I get for being an artist. I have a great eye for beauty, and a miserable memory for mundane details.”

  And what an artist she was. Her works in stained glass had gained national attention and acclaim. Dan wasn’t surprised. The beauty she created stemmed from the spirit of true beauty within her. And from her synesthesia. Because she saw things in ways others didn’t; she brought a depth of perception to her work, and people loved what she did.

  Clearly, God created Annie to be an artist.

  He lifted a hand to trace the pattern of one of his sister’s creations. When Dan and Sarah bought the home, Annie created a stunning forest scene to go in the library window. So they could be in the woods, she’d told them, even when they were in town.

  “Sarah loved this window.” He splayed his hand against the richly colored glass. “She always said you gave her her very own piece of God’s wilderness.”

  Annie stood in silence for a moment. “Tell you what. I’ll go back and report I found you. And that you’ll come out soon, say in a half hour at the most?”

  He sighed. “An hour.”

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  Dan held out his hand, and Annie hooked her pinkie w
ith his. “Done. That should make Sister-Mommy happy.”

  “Hey, that’s always my goal.”

  Annie pulled a face at him. “Give her a break, bro. With Mom and Dad gone, someone has to make sure you and I behave. Who better than Kyla? I mean, bossing people has to be her spiritual gift.”

  “Which is why she’s made the business Dad started into the number one construction business in Portland.”

  Annie leaned back against the desk. “Really, when you think about it, our sister is pretty remarkable.”

  He smiled. “That she is. A little … forceful at times, but nonetheless remarkable.”

  “Hey, you know what she always says …”

  They spoke together: “ ‘I didn’t make it as a businesswoman in a man’s world by waiting for someone to tell me what to do.’ ”

  Annie’s low laughter coaxed a smile from him. “Sometimes I think Mom should have given her a name that means control freak instead of victorious.”

  Dan surprised himself by chuckling. He hadn’t laughed in days. He’d wondered if he’d ever laugh again, ever smile again. How could he? Life without Sarah meant … emptiness. But he’d forgotten about Annie. She always made him laugh, even—or maybe especially—at times like this.

  He nudged her with his elbow. “And your name should mean imp instead of light.”

  She leaned against his arm. “You love me, and you know it.”

  “Yes.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, hugging her close. “Yes, I do.”

  She rested her head against him, and they stood there, the silence a comfort as they stared out at the terrible, sunny day.

  “It’s a Sarah kind of day.”

  Dan’s brow creased as he gazed down at his sister. “What?”

  She spread her hands, indicating the scene in front of them. “Can’t you feel it? It’s a Sarah kind of day, all full of sunlight and laughter and unbridled joy.”

  Sorrow battled sweet memory as Dan looked out the window again. Sarah loved every day, rain or shine. Her delight in life didn’t come from what was happening on the outside, but from inside. From the deep well of joy within her.

  “Sarah would love a day like today.”

  He smiled. “Only if she could be out in it.”

  “Hiking out there, in the woods … that was Sarah’s truest form of worship.”

  Their gazes met, and Dan saw something deep in his sister’s eyes.

  “You know that, don’t you, Danny? What happened … you couldn’t have stopped it. Sarah was outside every chance she got. Hiking, biking, swimming. With her not knowing she was allergic to bee stings, it was just a matter of time. If it hadn’t happened on your hike, it would have happened someplace else. And this way …” She bit her lip. “Well, at least this way, you were with her.”

  He wanted to argue. To say he could have done something more. But he knew in this, too, his sister was right.

  Annie started toward the door, only to halt when it flew open.

  “Daddy!”

  Dan turned as his two children ran toward him, and he went down on one knee. They catapulted themselves into his open arms, clutching him.

  “Hey, now—” he forced strength into his arms and his voice. “What’s up, you two?”

  Shannon sobbed against him, pressing close. Dan flinched as her pendant dug into his collarbone. He’d given her the Aslan pendant for her birthday, six days after her mom’s death. He’d considered waiting, but hoped it would give her something to hold on to.

  It had. She hadn’t taken the pendant off since slipping the chain over her head.

  “We couldn’t find you!” Hiccupping sobs accompanied Shannon’s words. “We thought you were gone!”

  Aaron released his grip on Dan’s shirt just long enough to punch his sister’s arm. “You thought he was gone. I told you he was here. Dummy.”

  Normally, he would have chastised Aaron for talking to Shannon that way, but Aaron’s words didn’t stem from his usual older-brother disdain. No, the cause of his harsh comment was clear in the boy’s tone: fear.

  He looked over his children’s heads at Annie, and she came to wrap her arms around all three of them.

  “Your dad’s right here, you guys. He just—” she pressed her cheek to Aaron’s head—“needed a little quiet time.”

  Shannon wiped her sniffles on Dan’s shoulder then peered up at him. “Were you bad, Dad?”

  “Bad?” Dan frowned then gave way to a smile. Ah. Of course. When the kids got to be too much, Sarah used to give them quiet time. “No, hon. Not bad. Just sad.”

  Aaron’s fingers played with a button on Dan’s shirt. “You miss Mom.”

  Dan swallowed his reaction to those quiet words. He needed to be steady for his children. “I miss Mom.”

  “So do I.” A tear trickled down Shannon’s pale cheek. “Lots.”

  Dan stood, taking their hands in his. “I know, honey. Me, too.”

  “Did God take Mom away?”

  Before Dan could reply, Aaron went on. “ ’Cuz if He did, I’m mad at Him.”

  Out of the mouths of babes. “It makes me mad, too, that your mom is gone. But I don’t think God took her away. I think it’s just something that happened. Something really, really bad.”

  “But … God was there, wasn’t He? He could have helped her. God can save anyone, right?”

  Dan looked into his little girl’s eyes, and the bewilderment there tore at his heart.

  What could he say? How could he help them understand when he didn’t fully understand himself?

  Sarah’s last words to him suddenly struck home: “Help our kids see who God is.”

  How do I do that, Sarah? When I’m not sure I know Him the way I thought I did? When I can’t help but feel this isn’t right … He should have helped you, should have shown us somehow that you were allergic …

  Even as the questions raced through his mind, Dan knew what Sarah’s answer would be. What it had been over and over again through the years: “Dan, don’t try to explain what you can’t. Just say what you know.”

  He could do that. “Come here, you two.” He led the kids to the overstuffed chair where he and Sarah used to sit together, him deep in the cushions, her snuggled on his lap.

  Annie went to lean against the desk. Dan glanced at her, and her gentle eyes told him what he needed to know. She was there if he needed her.

  He sat in the chair and opened his arms. The kids didn’t need any urging; they crawled into his lap, burrowing close. “God was there, with your mom and me. He’s always with us, even when it doesn’t feel like it. And yes, He could have saved your mom. But He didn’t.”

  Aaron rubbed a fist at his nose. “Why?”

  If only he had an answer for that. “I don’t know why, son. I wish I did.”

  “Did He want you to save her? Because you’re a policeman and save people?”

  The question cut deep, but Dan tried not to show his pain to Shannon. “I don’t think so, honey. I tried … I really did. I …”

  Go ahead. Say it. You did your best, right? Funny how it’s never quite good enough.

  Just like that awful day all those years ago …

  For a moment Dan thought he was going to lose it. Right then and there, with his children watching him. But Sarah’s voice came to him, low and calming: “Just say what you know.”

  He could do that. He looked from Shannon to Aaron. “I don’t know why God didn’t save Mom, but I do know it isn’t because He didn’t love her. Or you. And it wasn’t because He’s mean or made a mistake.” God didn’t make mistakes. Right? Dan just wished he felt a stronger conviction in the knowledge. “I know for a fact that God loves you both, very much. Even more than your mom and I do.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  Dan smiled at Shannon’s words, muffled as they were against his chest. “Yes, it is. A whole lot.”

  Annie kneeled beside them, reaching out to stroke Aaron’s hair. “Do you remember what your mom always used to sa
y about God?”

  Aaron leaned against his aunt. “He’s in control. Even when it doesn’t seem like it.”

  “Like now?”

  “Just like now, Shannon. I know it’s hard.” Harder than anything he’d ever known. “I know it seems like life is really bad and things won’t ever be right again …” He swallowed but couldn’t dislodge the lump in his throat. One pleading look at Annie was all it took.

  “But God knows everything we’re feeling. And He understands and loves us.” She touched Shannon’s cheek. “Even when we’re mad at Him. It’s just like when we’re mad at each other. As long as we keep talking, we can work through it.”

  Aaron pursed his lips, thinking. It never ceased to amaze Dan what a deep thinker the boy was. When Dan was twelve, he’d been focused on dogs and football and riding bikes. But Aaron’s twelve-year-old mind seemed to gravitate to the big questions in life. Sarah always said it was because God had great plans for their boy.

  Dan was sure she was right.

  Finally, Aaron gave a slow nod. “Okay.”

  Dan cocked his head. “Okay?”

  Aaron nodded again and slid from Dan’s lap. “Okay. I’ll keep talking to God.”

  “Me, too.” Determination shone on Shannon’s little-girl face as she added her nod to her brother’s.

  Dan hugged her, then set her on the floor. “And me, too.” He mussed her hair, and she caught his hand.

  “Love you, Daddy.”

  This time he managed to speak past the lump in his throat. “Love you, too, Shannon.” He looked at Aaron. “And you.”

  “Well, you two—” Annie reached down to take the kids’ hands—“what say we go see how panicked your Auntie Kyla is by now, seeing as we’ve all deserted her?”

  Dan sighed. “Do I have to?”

  She hesitated. “Maybe not. At least, not right away.” She looked down at Aaron and Shannon. “Think you two can go find your auntie and give her a big hug? Then ask her for a cookie?”

  “Sure.” Shannon took Aaron’s hand and tugged him toward the door. “We like Aunt Kyla. She’s funny.”

  “Yeah.” Annie made a face. “Funny. I’ve always said what a hoot that Kyla is.”

  Dan managed a smile through weary lips as Annie followed her niece and nephew toward the door. Just as she reached it, she cast a look over her shoulder. “I don’t suppose you have any elephant tranquilizers in the bathroom cabinet, do you?”