 
Independence Day, Book One

The Beginnings

By Bex Aaron

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011-2018 Bex Aaron, in conjunction with Wider Sky Press

To learn more on this series, visit its Facebook page at http://facebook.com/havenpark

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Table of Contents:

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven, Part One

Chapter Seven, Part Two

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine  
Chapter Ten

Interlude: Wonderful Christmastime

Interlude: Fireworks, Part One

About the Author and Series Info

Prologue:

July 4, 1966; 9:30 p.m.

"DID YOU HONESTLY think I wouldn't find out?"

All five feet of Carol Mathison's frame shook with rage as she stood before her fiancé. Her dark brown eyes narrowed, and she clenched her fists. "All this time, you've been lying to me, you son of a bitch! You lazy, good-for-nothing son of a bitch!"

"You're gonna wake up the kids," Jeff Howard reminded, without taking his eyes off of the television. "Calm down."

"Calm down? How do you expect me to be calm when you're cavorting around with that – hey! Are you listening to me? This town only has about thirty people in it, Jeff, and every single one of them is gonna know about this before it's all over with! Doesn't that bother you? Doesn't it humiliate you? Because it humiliates me! How am I supposed to hold my head up around here, with you – you're not even listening to me, are you? Damn it! Damn you!"

"I'm listening to you, babe," he affirmed, with a heavy sigh. "But I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh you don't, do you?" Carol came closer and for just a second, he expected her to throw something at him again. Instead, she only positioned herself between him and the television, ensuring he had no choice but to look at her as she continued her tirade. "Well, you're about to! Guess what, genius! I saw you! I saw both of you, holding hands and being all cute in that park! I saw the whole thing! So you go right ahead and tell me that it's not true, you go right ahead and tell me that it's all in my head – I know the truth about you, and – "

"I think you should go lie down for a while. You smell like a winery and you can barely stand up anymore."

"Well, you smell like...you smell like that whore!"

He lifted a hand to his forehead. "Not tonight, okay? Please. For God's sake, the kids. If you wake them up, you're dealing with them, okay?"

"Oh sure, I'll 'deal with them' because my children are just another issue to be dealt with! You think you're so smart, don't you? You think you're so much better than me, don't you? Well, you're not, you lazy piece of shit!"

He rose, intent on helping her to the stairs, as it was clear she would probably never find them in this state. "I think you need to go lie down."

She jerked back before he could touch her, wobbling for just a moment before regaining her bearings. "Don't you touch me! Don't ever touch me again, you hear me? Don't you dare touch me!"

Mutely, Jeff watched while she wandered around the living room and cursed at him. These sorts of outbursts were hardly uncommon, especially when she'd been drinking. He saw so many over the past year he could predict (with around 95% accuracy) where each would lead.

In a letter to his brother (which, due to her inability to read Welsh, remained one of few venues in which he felt comfortable speaking freely), he'd likened Carol's tantrums to a three-act play. Act one: Accuse him of cheating. Pace the house like a mad woman. Scream loud enough to wake the dead. Act two: Allege that she too was cheating, in an effort to upset him. Throw whatever was closest at hand when that didn't work. Inevitably bring David into it, saying he would never dream of doing these things to her. Act three: Threaten to leave and make him beg her to stay. Leave anyway. Return in the morning weeping and vowing she'd never do something like that again. Do it again the very next night.

Per his calculations, Act Two was set to begin any second now.

"Well, you know, Jeff," Carol announced, turning back toward him. Her words were slurred, if only slightly, and her balance was a bit off, but her eyes were sharp with fierce anger. "You know what? I have a surprise for you – I have a big surprise for you!"

He knew precisely what was coming, so Jeff did little more than stand there and stare at her, all the while wishing he was somewhere else...anywhere else.

"I'm..." Carol reached for the overcoat by the door. "I'm leaving!"

Interesting. She'd never skipped right to Act Three before. Could it be she'd finally realized how ludicrous the whole thing was...or was she just too drunk to remember the routine?

Dutifully, he spouted his line. "Please don't leave. I don't want you to leave."

"Well, I don't care what you want! I'm leaving! I'm done with you! This is it, Jeff – the final straw! You made a fool out of me for the last time! I'm done!"

That wasn't in the script either. He staggered closer. "Wait, what? You mean you're leaving...me? You're actually leaving me? You're – no. No you're not. You can't leave me, okay? This is...this is all a big misunderstanding and we can talk about it in the morning."

"There's nothing to talk about! You don't love me, you love that bitch! Well, fine! Far be it from me to stand in the way of what you want, because it's all about what you want, isn't it, Jeff?"

Unsure what else to do, Jeff moved in front of her. "Hey, come on. Think about this. Think about what you're actually saying, okay? We're gonna talk about this in the morning, but for now, you need to go lie down and try to sleep this off, okay? Can you make it to the stairs? Do you need help?"

Dramatically, Carol jerked her arm away from his attempt to take hold of it. "I said don't touch me! You just blew it, buddy! You blew it! So you enjoy yourself tonight, okay? I'll be back for the children in the morning."

"Baby, my God, come on," he pleaded. "Come on, don't do this. We can talk about this."

"I'll be back for the children in the morning," she said again, as she shoved past him to the door. "And when I get here, I want your stuff packed, you got it? You get the hell out of my house and you get the hell out of my life and you just rot in hell, you fucking bastard!"

"Baby, come on. Come on. You don't mean any of that, you know you don't. Please. Please just calm down and think about this, okay? Get some sleep and if you still want me gone tomorrow, I'll leave, but tonight – "

Before he could finish his sentence, Carol threw on her overcoat and opened the door. "Goodbye, Jeff."

Chapter One:

July 5, 1966; Daybreak

ONE SHOE OFF, one shoe on. Ants crawled up her slightly bent left leg. Her knee-length skirt fell in an awkward way that most ladies would find very inappropriate. She was lying on her back, with one arm stretched outward and the other bent, her hand loosely lingering over her throat. Her slightly pursed lips had an unmistakable tint to them; her face contorted to reveal the agony she'd endured.

Detective Shane Marcette shook his head sadly. Carol Mathison was dead.

"Hey, isn't that..." Brinks, a three-year vet of Haven Park PD, allowed his voice to trail off, and Shane knew exactly why. He didn't need to ask. Nobody needed to ask. They all knew who it was.

A chill encompassed Shane's entire body and he fought back a flood of emotion as he surveyed her once-radiant features. In one respect, this wasn't anything new. He'd been at this for over ten years now, and in that time, he'd seen his share of dead bodies. Of course, those were different kinds of death. Accidents, things of that nature. Murder was something that didn't happen in Haven Park. To Shane's knowledge, there'd never been one committed here, in the city's sixty-year history. This was a safe place, one where he grew up and one where, God willing, his children would grow up as well.

Or it had been.

Brinks cleared his throat. "We're gonna canvas the area and talk to the guy who found her, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." Shane's words were directed more to Carol's broken body than to Brinks. He just couldn't stop staring at her, and it seemed the longer he did, the worse he felt. Carol Mathison was not some random person. She was a friend, a sister, someone he'd known for ages and someone he couldn't imagine his life without. She had so much to live for. Two beautiful little boys, who needed her now more than ever. She was getting close to getting her nursing degree. She had a wedding to plan.

Shane remembered when Carol accepted Jeff's proposal quite vividly. Former Haven Park police chief, and Shane's personal mentor, Stanley Rogers called to share his daughter's engagement in disbelief just a few months ago. He wasn't the only one with reservations. Shane didn't know of a single person that seemed to approve of the union – most everyone around town already had Jeff Howard's number, and failed to see what Carol could've wanted with him in the first place.

He was of foreign birth, hailing from somewhere in Europe. If memory served, it was the U.K., but Shane couldn't be certain, because the guy had no trace of an accent. Maybe that was just another lie – Jeff was known for those. Come up with some crazy story to earn people's trust, feed them some bullshit to swindle them out of their money...he'd been at it for years. The concept of hard work was completely lost on him, which infuriated Shane and a lot of other people.

Jeff seemed to think the world owed him something. He labored under the delusion that he was too good to make something of himself the right way, relying instead on the privilege of being born handsome to get by. The ladies couldn't resist him, for some indecipherable reason, and Jeff seemed to revel in that one even more than making his living off the backs of Haven Park's finest. But Carol? Shane had always thought she was too smart to fall for that nonsense, and that was what hurt the most.

Everybody tried to warn her, Shane was hardly the only one. He could think of at least five other people who attempted to talk some sense into her, but she never listened. She said it wasn't anyone else's business, and she said she was happy. But she wasn't happy, and she hadn't been in years. When David died, a big part of Carol did as well. It was excruciating to watch. Losing the love of her life took a big toll on Carol, and clearly lowered her standards enough that marrying Jeff became a good idea. The guy was useless, utterly useless, but she couldn't see that. Make that, she wouldn't see it, because Shane relished every opportunity to point it out to her.

Jeff might as well have been a piece of furniture, because he didn't do much of anything. It was all on Carol's shoulders – working, keeping the house going, cooking, cleaning, taking care of the children. And the ultimate kick in the teeth? The thing that made Shane angriest about the whole arrangement? Jeff had the balls to say he wanted to adopt those children. He went so far as to refer to them as his own.

David Mathison would've been rolling over in his grave if he could hear the things coming out of that bum's mouth! It was revolting – utterly revolting to everyone who knew better, who counted themselves as Dave's friends, who knew Jeff only used those children as yet another reason to trick everyone into feeling sorry for him. His stories only got crazier: Carol is too drunk to buy her kids Christmas presents and I don't want them to have to grow up like I did, too poor to afford anything, so can you help me out? It's not for me, it's for the children! Those poor, poor kids!

Those poor kids indeed – left with someone like Jeff for a role model. Shane shuddered to imagine what they'd grow up to be. Maybe they'd have long records too. Maybe they would steal just about anything that wasn't nailed down. Maybe they'd systematically work their way through the town's bachelorettes, then set their sights on a little forbidden fruit. Maybe they, too, would resort to threats and violence when they didn't get their way.

The memory of it made Shane seethe. It was just last month, and he remembered it well. Jeff, of course, started spinning his wheels the very second the first officer showed up, decrying the whole thing as "a major misunderstanding." No threats were uttered, he swore – but that was not Carol's version of the events. She said the whole thing started as a simple fight, but escalated out of control when she told him she wanted him to leave. That was when he backed her up against the door. That was when he threatened her, though she never said with what. She didn't have to, though, because her fear was palpable that night. She was damn near shaking she was so upset...but just a few days later, everything was forgiven.

Shane couldn't believe it. The same woman who just days before said she wanted him out of her life for good came to bail him out, dropped the charges and took him back, as though nothing ever happened. It was the biggest mistake of her life, one she would never live to regret.

He knew he didn't need to jump to conclusions. He knew that singling out one person this early in the game was not a good idea – but goddamn it, he knew. He knew, and that knowledge sliced his stomach to ribbons as he stood there. He felt sick, but more than that, he felt ashamed. None of this had to happen, and maybe it wouldn't have happened if he'd done something more than just complain about the guy. If he'd pushed harder, if he'd not been so worried about alienating her...God, why the hell did he worry so much about alienating her? What was he so afraid of, that she'd cut him out of her life, like she had so many others? She wouldn't have done that. They went way too far back. There was too much trust and too much admiration on both sides for her to do something like that. She might not have liked it, but in time, she would have come to appreciate his intervention – if he'd only had the guts to intervene.

Fighting back a flood of remorseful emotion, Shane knelt down. "You deserve better than this," he whispered, gently pulling down her skirt.

He wished he could do more. He wished he could touch her, pick her up and hold her against him but it wouldn't matter, even if he did. She was already gone, and it was all just too little, too late. When it mattered, he wasn't there...and that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

July 5, 1966, 9 a.m.

TERRI ENGLUND FROWNED at her reflection in the mirror. She did not look very good today – and after that fight with Lance last night, she didn't feel very good either.

She awoke groggy and confused this morning, memories of the bitter war of words still ringing in her ears. He said so many hurtful things last night, things a loving husband should never say to his wife of almost five years. But, Terri considered grimly, as she attempted to style her short blonde hair, it was quite possible she deserved such a vicious verbal assault.

Things just weren't the same, and hadn't been for some time. As much as Lucas tried to blame Lance for the unraveling of their marriage, Terri knew a large portion of it was her own fault. She gave herself a makeover of sorts late last year – and the reinvention of herself she'd created with Lucas' help was a far cry from the innocent virgin Lance married all those years ago.

Terri couldn't really explain the metamorphosis that took place, except to say she just snapped. When her parents died, any shred of normalcy she'd ever hoped to achieve shattered. Her older brother Brett did the best he could to hold her together – and to a lesser extent, so did Lance – but there was little anyone could do to stop the descent. Terri just woke up one morning not caring anymore. In a week's time, she transformed her waist-length raven hair into a bleached blonde pixie cut. She began wearing makeup and lots of it, something she'd never done before. She took twenty pounds off her already slight frame. She started spending less and less time at home, often forging off on solitary pilgrimages at dawn and not returning until dusk...leaving Lance angrily waiting for his wife (and his dinner) sometimes up to two hours.

And then, when she met Lucas in the park, things really turned upside down. Terri now considered that chance encounter in February the point of no return, the point in which she knew she could not delude herself into believing she was happy being nothing but Mrs. Englund anymore. There was more out there. So, so, so much more.

Awkwardly, Terri pulled the sleeves of her cardigan down over her wrists. Yes, it was a bit hot for such attire, but there was no way she could meet Brett with those things showing. He would be so disappointed in her, she just knew it. Why wouldn't he be? She was disappointed in herself right now, but she as much as she knew something had to change, she didn't know where to start.

The usual suspects were at First Baptist of Haven Park when Terri arrived, but oddly enough, no one was stirring in the church office when she used her key to come inside. It was quiet. Way too quiet. Marnie was not at her desk. There were no records playing, no ringing phones, nothing but chilling silence. Terri felt a bead of sweat begin to dance down the back of her neck, as a flood of frenzied, paranoid thoughts invaded her mind.

"Brett?" she called, upon noticing the door to his office was slightly ajar. "Brett, it's me. Are you in there?"

Before Terri could come any closer, church secretary Marnie Blake emerged from inside. The dramatic eye makeup she wore on a daily basis was steadily running beneath her eyes and her nose was blood red, but she did her best to smile. "Terri, good morning. I'm so glad you're here."

With that, she moved in for an embrace Terri reluctantly returned. Marnie was never normally this friendly when she arrived – and the fact she looked like she'd been crying spoke volumes. "What's the matter?" Terri asked slowly. "What happened? Is it something with Evan? Is your mother okay?"

Marnie pulled from the embrace and Terri could see the confusion in her eyes right away. "No, Evan is fine. It's...it's..."

"Peaches, you, uh...you wanna come in?" Leaning against the doorway of his office, Reverend Brett Woodward motioned her forward. "Come in. I think...I think you should sit down."

There was something so different about him, a sadness that was almost palpable. Terri felt a chill tingle its way down her spine. She'd only seen Brett look that way one time before – when he had to tell her their parents were dead.

"What?" she whispered, as she stepped forward. "What's going on?"

"Come sit down."

"Brett, what's going on? What happened?"

He hesitated for what felt like an eternity. "I got a call this morning. Uh...I really don't know how to say this. Uh..." He reached out to her shoulder. "You really should sit down."

"I don't want to sit down," she argued. "I want you to tell me what happened. Somebody died. Who died? Was it – "

"Peaches...there's not an easy way to say this. I'm so sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but Carol died. She died."

Terri shook her head emphatically, blinking back tears. "No. No she didn't. That's not funny. She can't be dead, I just saw her yesterday. We had lunch at the diner and we were supposed to go shopping this weekend. She – she..."

She paused, as the news sank in. He wrapped both arms around her, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her ear.

She was hardly in the mood for comfort. "What happened to her? I want to know what happened."

His eyes told her that no, she really didn't, but she still persisted when he didn't respond. "Tell me what happened to her, Brett. What happened?"

"Right now, it's looking like...someone killed her."

Terri placed a hand over her mouth. My God, she felt like someone had just kicked her in the stomach. "Who would do that?" she whispered, unable to contain her grief. "Why would someone do that?"

He shook his head sadly. "That's what the police are trying to figure out."

July 5. 1966, 10:30 a.m.

"SO YOU SAW Carol leaving last night?" Officer Brinks stood in the doorway, taking careful notes as Mrs. Maryellen James spoke. She was no stranger to the Haven Park PD. As the across-the-street neighbor to Jeff and Carol, she'd called the cops at least three times in as many months to report their violent arguing, but swore there was no major altercation last night.

Picking up her poodle, Mrs. James nodded. "Yes. She left at about 9:30. Maybe ten."

"Was she alone?"

"I didn't see Jeff at all."

"Did she leave on foot? Which direction did she head?"

"She didn't have the car. And, um, she went that way. I don't know what direction that is." Mrs. James pointed.

Brinks continued to take notes. "Did you see Jeff Howard at any point in time?"

"Yes. I was outside walking my dog and I saw Jeff come back from somewhere."

"Was this before or after Carol left?"

"Oh, this was way after. This was probably around three in the morning. Little Muffin here woke me up and I took her out and there he was, coming back. He looked in a mad rush, to be honest. I waved at him, but I don't think he saw me. He just went straight to the house. He kept looking over his shoulder, though. That was kind of strange."

Immediately, wheels began turning in Brinks' head. "Looking over his shoulder? Like he thought he was being watched?"

"That's what it looked like to me."

"And you said there was no fighting last night?"

"None that I could hear. Things have been pretty quiet over there lately. Oh, this is just a terrible tragedy. Carol was a lovely young woman! I just can't believe it!"

"Yes ma'am," Brinks agreed. "This is a terrible tragedy. Thank you very much for your time. We may need you to come down to the station to give an official statement."

"That would be no problem!" Mrs. James insisted. "I will do whatever I can to help."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you very much, and have a good day."

July 5, 1966, 11 a.m.

THE SOUND OF someone knocking on the door jarred Jeff out of a fitful nap on the couch. It was his intention to wait for Carol to return, but exhaustion got the better of him after getting the boys breakfast. Cooking for kids was a tiring job, especially when you could barely boil water. Still, somebody had to do it. It wasn't like Carol ever even tried to play Mother anymore – why should she? That was what she had him for, right?

The boys, both seated on the floor in front of the television, turned to him expectantly as he sat up. "Mom's home," Mickey, the elder at four, informed.

"Yeah, yeah she is," Jeff agreed, reaching up to rub his eyes. "Why don't you guys give us a minute, okay? I need to talk to your mom about something."

A lot of somethings, actually.

"Is she mad?" Roger, the younger at three, asked.

Jeff debated how honest to be as he walked toward the door. "Probably not. At least, I hope not. Guys, give us a minute, huh?"

He expected a protest, and was pleasantly surprised when they agreed. Then, they'd seen this same scenario play out a few times before. Carol made a big scene when she came home, crying and saying how awful she felt for the way everything unfolded. She'd swear she was going to do better, and she might even pour the wine down the sink. It was all dramatic and showy, but none of it was sincere. It was never, ever sincere.

Jeff waited for the kids to be safely in their bedroom before reaching for the door knob. In the meantime, the knocking only grew louder and more persistent. "Okay!" he called. "Okay, okay, okay! You could use your key, you know!"

With a sigh, he opened the door, fully expecting to see a weepy Carol standing there. Instead, he was greeted by Shane Marcette and some guy he didn't recognize.

"Morning, Jeff," Shane began. "Hope I didn't wake you. May I come in?"

"Shane? Huh? Uh, yeah, okay. I guess." Jeff stepped back to allow them entrance. "What brings you here? Is there a problem?"

He didn't know why he'd asked that – obviously, there was. Shane was not known for making social calls, especially when Carol wasn't home.

"Is this about Carol?" he asked, as dread began to gnaw at his insides.

"Why do you ask?" Shane turned sharply toward him, his gaze challenging.

"This is about Carol, isn't it?" Jeff sighed.

Before Shane could say a word, the other guy spoke up. "It is. We're gonna need you to come down to the station."

Jeff swallowed hard. What the hell had he done this time? "And why's that?"

"You know damn well what's going on!" Shane sneered. "You son of a – "

Frantically, Jeff glanced back and forth between the two. "What exactly did she...tell you? What did she say? Because – because last night – "

"We need you to come down to the station," the stranger repeated. "We need to ask you a few questions about last night."

Jeff took a step back. "I don't know what she told you, but this whole thing is a big misunderstanding."

Shane stepped forward, close enough that Jeff could smell his cologne. "Misunderstanding, huh? There was no misunderstanding this morning when I – "

The other officer cut him off. "We need to ask you some questions about last night, so we can try to figure out what happened."

"What do you mean? I don't know what you mean. Did she get herself in trouble? Did she get hurt? Is she...okay?"

An awkward silence followed, and that silence answered Jeff's question better than either one of them could. "No," the stranger finally said. "No, I'm sorry, she's not. Your fiancée is dead. I'm very sorry."

Jeff lifted both hands to his face. "My God. Oh God. What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Shane replied, his eyes narrow.

"We need to ask you a few questions, okay?" repeated the officer. "So if you could come with us, that would be very helpful."

As he turned away from them, Jeff felt his knees buckle and he gripped the back of the couch for support. "I...the kids. I can't leave the kids. Let me...let me figure out something, okay? I'll call someone and...oh God."

"I suggest you figure out something fast, because I'm not waiting all day."

Jeff wanted to respond to that, but he couldn't think of anything to say. The whole room felt like it was spinning, and he wasn't sure how to make sense of anything happening around him.

"Call whoever you need to," the other officer said. "But this is very important, so we hope you will appreciate that. I'm very sorry for your loss. She was a hell of a woman."

Chapter Two:

July 5, 1966; 2:30 p.m.

"FOR THE LAST damned time, I have no idea what you're talking about!" Jeff threw up his hands. This was insane. He didn't know how many times he had to recount the events of last night – or how many times he had to be accused of lying, for that matter.

"And for the last damn time, you know exactly what I'm talking about. And we're not leaving here until I get some answers." Shane stared across the table at him, challenging his every word.

"I already gave you answers! What the hell else do you want?"

Shane stood and began to pace the room. He appeared to be debating that. "I want the truth. You know what that is, right? That's the stuff that's not a lie, that's not bullshit to try and get people to give you stuff. That's the stuff that – "

"I know what the truth is."

"Just making sure. So, uh...you and Carol. You didn't have a really great relationship, did you?"

"I don't know why that matters to you. I don't know why it ever did." So much for the truth. Jeff knew exactly why it mattered to Shane – because Carol used it every chance she got to make him jealous. It never worked.

"You two fought a lot, didn't you? You weren't exactly happy together, were you?"

"That doesn't have anything to do with this! Don't you think I'm going through enough right now without you reminding me things weren't great?"

Shane turned back toward him. "So you admit they weren't great?"

"Goddamn it, what are you trying to do?" Jeff felt tears welling up in his eyes and buried his face in his hands to hide them. "If you're...if you're trying to..."

"I'm trying to figure out what the hell happened," Shane informed, as he strode back toward him. "And you're not being very helpful."

"You're not being very helpful either. I don't need this right now, I really don't. I need to...figure out where to go from here. I don't know what I'm supposed to tell those kids, I don't know what I'm supposed to do now, and you're not fucking helping! I can't do this right now. I'm sorry, I just can't do this right now."

"So what happened last month? The truth, I mean."

Jeff stood, intent on leaving. "I said I can't do this right now, okay?"

Shane intercepted him, before he could make it to the door. "We're not done yet. I asked you a question. What happened last month?"

"You mean when she called the cops on me? You were there, you already know what happened! She got drunk and we had a fight and she called the cops! And everybody came out of their house to watch the show and they all just shook their heads at what a terrible person I am to do that to poor Carol! That's what happened, okay? Can I leave now?"

"You left out the part where you threatened her," Shane reminded coldly.

"That's because I didn't threaten her."

"Oh. I see. You didn't threaten her. You didn't threaten anybody, did you? You didn't back her up against the door, did you?" The closer Shane got, the madder he looked. "Did you, Jeff? No. No, of course you didn't. God only knows why Carol would have said you did, but – "

"She said it because she was drunk!" Jeff fired back, his emotion getting the better of him for just a second. "She always did that shit when she was drunk! She made up things, she started fights, she stirred up trouble! You knew her for a whole lot longer than I did. I would have thought you would have known that!"

Slowly, Shane nodded. "Oh, okay. She said it because she was drunk. You didn't threaten you were gonna hurt her or anything – you didn't threaten her at all. It was all just some big misunderstanding because she was drunk. Well, of course it was."

"I know what you're trying to do. And I don't have time for this, because you're wrong. I didn't threaten her, I didn't kill her, I didn't do anything but try to fucking take care of her!"

"Taking care of her. Is that what you called it?" Shane lit another cigarette. It was his sixth straight one. "Because that's not what she said. She said you were a lazy son of a bitch and you know what? I'm inclined to believe her. You don't really like working, do you? It's a whole lot easier when you can find somebody that'll do it for you. And that's what Carol did, right? She did all of that for you, so you could just – "

"That doesn't have anything to do with this."

Much to Jeff's surprise, Shane agreed. "You're right. You're right, it doesn't. My apologies. Let's get back to the matter at hand. What'd you fight about last night?"

"I already told you that was none of your business."

"And see, that's where you're wrong. It became my business when I saw Carol lying there, in that park. When I had to look at her lying there, when I had to see the ants – "

Jeff buried his face in his hands again, as if doing so could somehow make Shane stop. "I don't wanna hear this. I can't hear this."

"You don't wanna hear about the ants, huh? Well, I didn't want to see them."

His face still hidden from Shane's view, Jeff shook his head. "You're an asshole."

"And you're a con-artist," Shane shot back without missing a beat. "A proven liar. We all know. You're not fooling anybody. You've conned almost everyone in town already. Anything for a quick buck, right? You'd do anything. You'd use anyone. You used Carol for months, didn't you?"

More than anything, Jeff wanted to fire off that he'd never used anybody, but that wasn't entirely true. He had, and he knew he had – apparently, so did Shane. "That's none of your business," he finally managed, as evenly as possible. "The relationship Carol and I have is none of your business."

"Had," Shane corrected. "The relationship you and Carol had. She's dead now."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Why don't you tell me what the fight was about last night?"

Much the same way that Shane refused to answer his question, Jeff sat in stubborn silence. Shane didn't seem to mind, though, and was quickly offering up his own theories. "It was about the money. That's what all your fights were about, money. She knew you were using her, and she told you she wasn't going to put up with it anymore."

"Is that what you wanna believe, Shane? Is that gonna help you feel any better? Fine, then. That's fine. I don't care. Believe whatever you want."

"Okay, I will," Shane agreed calmly. "I'll believe you weren't gonna let her talk to you like that. I'll believe you weren't gonna let her stand up for herself. I'm gonna believe you followed her and you found her in that park and you made good on that threat of yours. So how'd you do it? Did she see you coming, or did you sneak up on her, you sick fucking bastard? Did you feel like a real man when you put your hands around her neck? Did you – "

Unable to contain himself any longer, Jeff leapt out of his chair. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so enraged. "You're the one who's sick! Are you listening to yourself? I didn't fucking kill her, okay? My God, what are you trying to do?"

Shane offered no answer. Instead, he casually flicked the ashes from his cigarette onto the floor. "Where'd you go last night?"

Repeatedly, Jeff blinked. Fuck! "I didn't go anywhere."

"I thought you said you knew what the truth was."

"I do know what the truth is, I – "

"Just don't know how to tell it." Shane took the liberty of finishing his sentence for him. "Your neighbor saw you coming home at three in the morning, so let's try this again. Where did you go last night? And why did you look so nervous when you got back?"

For a moment, Jeff's mind raced. What the hell could he possibly say? "I went looking for her. It was late. I was worried."

"So you're telling me that you went looking for her at three in the morning? You left the kids by themselves at three in the morning to go look for her? That's what you're telling me?"

Jeff nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Shane came closer. "You're the worst liar I've ever met, just for the record...because a good liar actually thinks things through. Remember how you said earlier you couldn't leave the kids? Remember that? You were gonna have to call somebody, because you couldn't leave the kids."

He made sure to carefully emphasize that last part, which only left Jeff feeling worse. "Look, I – "

"You couldn't leave the kids alone in the middle of the day!" Shane continued. "But you could leave them alone at three in the morning to go look for Carol. That doesn't make any fucking sense!"

"I – I wasn't thinking," Jeff stammered. "It was late and I was worried and I just wasn't...I thinking. I wasn't gone long. I didn't leave them alone long. I just...I wanted to see if I could find her somewhere."

"At three in the morning?" The skepticism was evident in Shane's voice. "At three o'clock in the morning?"

"I can't make you believe me, Shane."

"And I don't believe you, for the record."

"And that's fine. Don't believe me, but you can't keep me here if you aren't gonna charge me with anything."

"How long have you been in this country?"

The question was so random Jeff took a moment to process it. "Why does that matter?"

"Just curious is all." Shane shrugged. "Sometimes people show up illegally, and they kind of slip right through the cracks and – "

"You can't be serious. Is this all you have?" Jeff shook his head, unable to believe it. "This is really all you have? I've been here since I was fucking twelve years old, okay? Nobody slipped through any cracks and you can stop grasping at straws, because I don't have time for this. If you're done accusing me of something you can't prove, I need to go home and I need to be with my kids."

Shane didn't look like he appreciated that very much – which was probably the reason he went straight for the jugular with his next comment. "They're not your kids! They're Carol's kids. They're David's kids. They are not your kids!"

Drawing in a slow breath, Jeff moved toward the door. He couldn't dispute that, and he wouldn't. It was all just a waste of time at this point. "I need to leave, and you need to get out of my way, okay?"

Much as Jeff expected, Shane refused to budge. "You're full of shit, I know you are. I know what you did to her, you son of a bitch!"

"Yeah? Well, good luck proving that."

July 5, 1966; 3:15 p.m.

TERRI SPENT MUCH of the morning at the church office, still reeling from the news of Carol's death. Marnie seemed equally shocked, while Brett was his usual pillar of strength, alternately consoling his sister and his secretary and pondering the senselessness of it all.

Just after lunch, Terri pulled herself together long enough to drive home, but once she got there, the emotional purging continued. It was just one thing too many right now! She didn't know how much more she could take! And sitting in that house, with nothing but unhappy mementos and memories only made everything worse, so she went for a drive. For a while, her direction was aimless. She needed time to think; to reconcile this latest blow to what used to be her perfect life. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She and Carol were supposed to grow into cantankerous old women together. Raise their children as cousins. Rejoice in the birth of their grandchildren. Live next door out in the country, with nothing but cats and each other for company. But none of that would ever happen, because the best friend she'd ever had was dead.

As she drove, Terri's mind kept flashing back to her final conversation with Carol, yesterday over lunch at Hazel's Diner. They each spent a fair amount of time complaining about their respective other halves, but the conversation soon turned to Lucas...and the dilemma Terri was facing.

"I know you're going to hate me for this," Carol began, as she stirred sugar into her coffee, "but I just don't like him."

"No one likes him," Terri replied sadly.

"Did you ever stop to think there might be a reason for that? Honey, come on. You know me and you know I'm not going to pull any punches with you. What you have with Lance is a little messed up right now..."

"A lot messed up," Terri interrupted with a sigh.

Carol nodded knowingly. "A lot messed up right now, dear...but that doesn't mean you should just throw it all away to chase after a man you barely know."

"But I do know him! I know him on a level deeper than anyone could ever possibly understand! Lucas and I relate on a level that's deeper than the human race itself."

"Terri! My God, he sells dope!"

"And Lance sells chairs. What's the difference?"

Incredulous, Carol stared across the table, then down at Terri's arm – an arm she immediately moved into her lap. "That's gotta be the drugs talking."

Terri found herself so mortified she couldn't even look up to meet Carol's concerned gaze. "Keep the judgments to a minimum today, okay? I don't think I am up for them right now."

"I don't judge you," Carol was quick to correct. "But I wouldn't be any kind of friend if I didn't at least try to get through to you. You've got to stop this. Look at what you're doing to yourself and what you're doing to Lance. Look what's happened to the both of you since this started. It's just going to get worse if you don't do something about it now."

Terri blinked back tears. "I fail to see how it could possibly get any worse than it is now."

"Honey, it could, believe me. It could, and it will. Listen, okay? You can't keep doing this. You know what's right. You know this is not what you need...that Lucas is not what you need."

"This isn't his fault, you know," Terri insisted, looking up at her. "It's not."

"The hell it's not his fault! Look what he did to you!" Momentarily, Carol's voiced rose, before she took a look around the diner and apologized. "I'm sorry. I know it's not something you want to hear, and I've lost a good friend in the past by saying something like this, but I wish you could see what I see. He did this to you, no doubt about it. None of this happened before you met him. And if you leave Lance and take off to God knows where with him, don't you know it's just going to get worse? I know you have stars in your eyes right now. I know you think he hung the moon, but he didn't. He is not the man you think he is. He's dangerous and he's got a lot going on that you don't want any part of. Please, just trust me on this."

The words played over and over and over in Terri's mind, until she found herself at the door of his rented apartment on Haven Park's far west boundary. She was doing the very thing Carol told her not to so many times, but there was just nowhere else to turn. Lance would never understand. The only person who could ever understand her was Lucas, no matter what anyone else believed.

Cautiously, he peered at her from the hole in the blinds and once reasonably assured she was alone, he opened the door. Terri didn't bother with pleasantries or anything of that nature – she only leapt into his arms, the grief overwhelming her in an instant. She couldn't even begin to formulate a sentence. All she could do was cling to him and cry.

"Baby?" Lucas pulled back to look at her. His dark eyes conveyed so much, and that was the thing Terri loved so much about them. The concern was written all over him, and she desperately wished Carol could have seen it. Maybe she would have realized how right things were if she had. "What happened, baby? Come in. What did he do to you?"

When she failed to answer, he took her arm to pull her inside, slamming the door behind them. Terri barely registered the noise. "Lucas..." she began, between heavy sobs.

"What did he do? Tell me what he did to you."

"No, it wasn't him this time. It's..." Terri took a moment to collect herself. "It's Carol! She's dead!"

She couldn't say for sure the type of reaction she expected, but he didn't offer one at all. All he did was stand there, staring at her. She wasn't sure if he'd even heard her, so she said it again. "She's dead! Just like that, she's dead! And – and somebody killed her! Oh God...oh God, I need you!"

"You have me," he assured, wrapping his arms around her once more. "It's okay."

She wished she could believe that – nothing was ever going to be "okay" again, and this latest blow hammered that one home. "I just – I can't – I can't even breathe!"

Supportively, he ran his hands down her back. "I know. I know. It's okay."

For a very long time, he stood there holding her. Neither one of them said anything, but they didn't have to. The moment was powerful enough without words. All over again, Terri wished Carol could have seen how wonderful he really was. If only he weren't so guarded and reclusive. If only he showed more people who he really was...maybe then, they would understand.

He leaned close to whisper into her ear. "Somebody killed her, huh?"

Too overwhelmed to verbally respond, she nodded.

"Do they know who it was?"

"No," Terri answered with a sniffle. "I don't think so. I...I just don't know who could do something like that!"

Still lingering close to her ear, he hesitated. "It would have to be somebody...angry. You don't kill somebody if you're not angry. And Carol...well, she had a nasty habit of pissing people off, so..."

Terri's entire body stiffened. "Please don't say that."

Again, he hesitated. "Nobody ever wants to be the one to...say it. It's like, when people die, every rotten thing they've ever done is completely forgotten. But I'm not like that and – well, if you want the truth, I'm not really surprised."

"Please don't say that," she said again, her voice shaking.

"I know," he acknowledged, with a sigh. "It's a shitty thing to say, but a person like that, who lives their entire life fucking around with people – eventually that comes back to you, you know?"

"Are you saying she deserved this?" Anger rose up within her and she did her best to shove it back down.

"I'm saying sometimes people fuck with the wrong person," he explained flatly. "I've seen enough of that to know how it works."

Terri felt sick – utterly sick. She had known Lucas probably wouldn't sit there and cry with her about this, but she'd really expected him to have a little more decency than that. She pulled from the embrace, her cheeks flushed. "I, uh...I think I need to go."

He watched her for a moment. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"I'm not mad at you. I'm just...surprised."

"Well, you shouldn't be. This happens all the time. People like that spend their whole lives – "

"I don't mean surprised about her death," Terri clarified, as she struggled to control the emotion that raged within her.

"Surprised at me, then? You really should know by now that I was no fan of Carol's. She spent her entire life trying to push people around. She did it with you a hundred times – she even tried to do it to me. And if she was stupid enough to do it to me, the odds are, she was stupid enough to do it to somebody that was gonna snap her fucking neck." Lucas shrugged. "Nobody ever wants to be the one to say it, so I will. She fucked with the wrong person, and she got what she deserved."

Terri moved toward the door. "I should go. Lance will be home soon."

"And he's gonna get what he deserves, too. Eventually. You know, if you really wanted to stick it to the old bastard, you could always just – "

Before he could suggest she move in, yet again, she turned toward the door. This was not a conversation she'd expected to have – nor was it one she'd easily shake off. "We'll talk about that another time. I don't want him screaming at me again, so I'm gonna go."

She expected him to protest that, but he didn't. Perhaps he knew how much he'd upset her – or perhaps he just didn't care. She had to remember he wasn't like everyone else. He made the habit of saying things that people only thought and it was one of the most refreshing things about him. He wasn't out to win points with people or try to make himself look good. He was no Lance, that was for damned sure.

Still, the venom behind his words took her aback. Maybe it was because everything was still so raw that it bothered her this much. She couldn't say for sure, but she knew she couldn't get out of there fast enough. She practically ran the entire way to the car, as she willed herself not to completely break down. Everything just hurt right now, and the longer this day went on, the deeper the ache became.

Why did something like this have to happen?

July 5, 1966; 5:30 p.m.

MARNIE CAME IN the door with a heavy sigh and set her keys on the table. As she removed her earrings, she shook her head disapprovingly at the mess her husband of less than a month, Evan, left behind in the living room. Obviously, he'd been drinking. He never scattered the photos out like that if he hadn't.

She'd always known he was a bit eccentric, from the moment he brought her to his home for the first time. The entire house was a shrine to his late wife Francine, something Marnie could understand to a degree, but had to admit was a bit odd for her tastes. Photos of the pleasant blonde lined every wall of the house (and were now arranged in a circle on the living room floor). It was Evan's wont to sit in the midst of them, with his trusty bottle of scotch, loudly mourning that there was just nothing he could do. The sight horrified Marnie at first, but she'd grown somewhat accustomed to it by now. There was little she could do either, only observe carefully, and offer him comfort when he asked for it. He rarely asked for it.

This evening, however, Evan was not in the living room. From the noise, Marnie deduced he must be in the downstairs guest room – another room he'd dedicated to Francine's memory. Standing at the door, she debated whether or not she really wanted to go in. Bad things tended to happen when she interfered in these evenings...like the time she got hit with a picture frame he threw. Of course, he didn't do it on purpose. It was probably her own fault, for bursting in on him like that, but she still had a suspicious abrasion on her face for days. She also had the entire town speculating on what was going on behind closed doors.

Marnie never told anyone, not even her closest friends. Evan's emotional turmoil was always kept a closely guarded secret, because she knew how fiercely protective he was of his privacy. He would never permit her to discuss how awkward, uncomfortable and emotionally draining these evenings were. He would certainly never allow her to admit this wasn't at all what she'd expected when she fell in love with the charming postman who promised to show her the world.

She frowned. Regret was hardly worth it, because it wasn't like she had any other choice in the matter. And besides, it could have been a whole lot worse. Evan was never cruel to her intentionally and he treated her quite well when he was sober. He wasn't a liar or a cad, he was just still shaken up after Francine's death...ten years after the fact.

After thinking through her options, Marnie deemed it best to at least let him know she was there. With a light knock on the door, she cleared her throat. "Evan? I'm home."

At once, silence fell over the guest room. Evan's red-rimmed eyes were the first thing Marnie noticed when the door flew open, along with the relief on his face. Instinctively, she reached out to him, but he enveloped her in a tight embrace before she could make physical contact. "Francine!"

"No..." Marnie reminded gently. "No, Evan, it's me...Marnie."

He acted as though he hadn't even heard her, pulling back and surveying her features. "Oh, let me look at you! You're beautiful! You're so beautiful! Never leave me again!"

With that, he hugged her again. Marnie closed her eyes. This was hardly uncommon either, though she had to admit the first time shook her to the core. That night, Evan drunkenly clung to her for a full three hours, begging her not to jump and promising to be a better man if she would stay. "Evan," she whispered into his ear, "honey, it's me. It's Marnie. I'm not Francine. I'm Marnie."

He pulled out of the embrace, blinking repeatedly. Then, he began to pace in the other direction. "Marnie. I'm sorry. I thought you were..."

"Yes. I know. It's okay."

"It's not okay! I'm sorry."

She came up behind him and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was all she knew to do. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

"Sometimes I think I see her everywhere," he whispered, turning to face her. "I must be going crazy. I do the strangest things, Marnie. Things I just don't understand..."

"We all do sometimes. It's all right."

"Do you love me? Please tell me you still love me." His eyes pleaded for an affirmative answer.

"Of course I love you! I love you very much."

"Are you sure about that? I don't think anybody could ever love me knowing who I really am..." He took to pacing again before coming to a stop in front of the mirror on the dresser. "This is who I am," he announced, pointing an angry finger at his reflection. "This is who I really am. How can you love this, Marnie? How can you love me after what I've done?"

"What are you talking about?" Marnie stepped toward him, almost afraid to ask. "What have you done?"

He looked surprised as he turned to face her. "Look at me, Marnie! You're looking at a killer!"

Chapter Three:

July 5, 1966; 6:15 p.m.

JULIA WOODWARD SIGHED as she watched her husband from across the table. He'd been home almost an hour, but had yet to really say a word. He didn't even touch the dinner she spent an hour preparing. Granted, solemn silence was not really that unusual for Brett, especially after a difficult day such as this one, but the look on his face was more than enough to warrant her concern.

"Do you want to talk about it, honey?" she offered quietly.

"No, not really."

"Are you sure about that?"

"I don't know if there's anything to say. What can you say about this? It's just...one of those things. One of those things that sneaks up on you and...you can't shake it."

She nodded. "I know. I'm having a hard time with this one myself."

"Death is a part of life, I know that. We all know that. Ashes to ashes and all of that other stuff. But it never makes any sense, have you noticed that? It never makes any damned sense, and that's...I don't know, Jules. I just don't know what to say."

"Sometimes, words just aren't enough. I feel terrible for her children. And...Jeff."

"How's he doing? Have you heard anything?"

"No. I haven't. I can imagine he's pretty shaken up, though. He loved her very much." The words seemed to stubbornly stick in Julia's throat, and she required an extra sip of water to wash them down.

For what felt like an eternity, Brett stared at her, and the silence made her heart pound. Finally, he spoke. "They, um...they had their problems lately. She came to see me last month. She just showed up and it was so random because, you know, she never comes to church anymore and...I shouldn't say this."

Julia felt like a cornered animal. More than anything, she wanted to get up and busy herself with something else, because the direction of this conversation was not something she was at all comfortable with.

Before she could attempt to change the subject, he continued, "She said a few things that really stuck with me, you know? And that's the stuff you think about. You don't think about the bigger picture, and you really should. Instead, you focus on those small things...those little insignificant things you didn't pay a whole lot of attention to and..." He paused for an uncomfortably long time. "Maybe you should have."

"What sort of things do you mean?" she asked, though she wasn't certain she wanted to know – and if she knew Brett at all, he probably wouldn't have told her, anyway.

"I don't know, Jules...just little things. Things about Jeff, things about the problems they were having...makes you think, you know?"

Julia fully expected him to leave it at that, but that clearly wasn't enough. He had to look up, directly into her eyes, and confide with a sigh, "She was convinced he was cheating on her. Convinced, and she was really upset about the whole thing and so...you just think about that stuff, you know? You think about whether or not that was true, even though it's not like it would matter at this point, anyway. You think about how he's feeling right now, because if that was true – "

Julia leapt to her feet before he could finish his sentence. "Are you going to eat that now or do you want to have it later?"

"It's not my job to speculate on anything," he continued, as he handed over his plate. "And I know that...but you still wonder. Know what I mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant – and it only propelled her into the kitchen even faster. She had to change the subject now. Right now. "Uh...Shane. How is Shane doing?" That seemed like the safest form of deflection.

"Uh, actually, I don't know. I tried to call, but he wasn't in. I'm pretty sure he's got his hands full with all of this. I hope he knows I'm around if he needs something, though."

"I'm sure he does," she replied, over the running water. "It's good that you're there for him. He needs that."

"Well, I try to be. As much as he'll let me."

"And how's Terri?" That was another fairly safe subject – one that could drag on for the next two and a half hours, depending on how much trouble she'd found herself in today. "I know she was very close to Carol. She's got to be so broken up."

Brett's response was drowned out by the faucet, but that was just as well. Julia already knew what it was, anyway: some long, drawn out speech about how "poor Peaches" was so overwhelmed and how everything was so terrible for her and how much he wished he could make things better – despite the fact she'd brought single woe on herself. Still, Julia considered, as she donned her rubber gloves, it was a whole lot better than talking about Jeff right now.

She was not surprised at all to find he was still lamenting poor Terri's spell of bad luck when she turned the water off. He was likely just getting started.

"...and you just think, 'Wow, could it get any worse?' It's really surprising she hasn't lost her mind during all of this. Everyone says how strong I am, but I don't think I could do what she does, day after day. Do you?"

"I certainly couldn't," Julia agreed, as pleasantly as possible.

And I wouldn't, because I know better.

"It's not fair, you know? Nothing about her life is very fair right now, and I think that's what bothers me the most."

Nothing about anyone's life was very fair, but she was not about to say so. It never went over very well. If anything, it just made things worse, because it was the last thing Brett wanted to hear. He was perfectly happy to believe that Terri had a perpetual black cloud hanging over her head, and nothing that ever happened to her was her own fault. Why should she tell him any different? It wasn't as though he'd listen to her, anyway.

"Yes, it's very...upsetting." Out of context, that wasn't a lie.

"I just don't know what else to do at this point. I've done everything I can do."

"Well, in that case, the only thing left to do is pray," she offered blithely.

"I've done that too. It doesn't seem to be helping much."

Well, of course it wasn't, because there was such a thing as free will, and God was not in the business of preventing you from your own mistakes.

"Things will get better," she promised. "They have to. Nobody can be that miserable forever."

"I hope you're right," he sighed, "because I really don't know what else to do."

July 5, 1966; 6:30 p.m.

"WOW, YOU'RE HERE. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The sarcasm in Lance Englund's voice made his wife shudder. She should have known better than to expect him to arrive home in a good mood.

"So happy to see you," he continued, as he walked toward the kitchen. "And what a lovely meal you've prepared for me, after a long day at the office! Oh, Terri, you've truly outdone yourself! I don't deserve a fine wife like you!"

"Lance, stop it," she begged. "Please. I'm not in the mood."

"You're never in the mood, dear. You're not in the mood to talk to me. You're not in the mood to spend time with me. You're not in the mood to cook for me. You're not in the mood to sleep with me. You're just not in the mood for anything." Dramatically, he gestured outward, to the clutter on the coffee table. "And I guess you're not in the mood to clean the house either, because it's filthy!"

She pulled her knees up to her chin and began to slowly rock herself. "I was out today. I didn't have the time. I'll get to it tomorrow."

"Right. Sure you will."

"Carol's dead," she announced, as if that might distract him from his tirade.

His response was little more than a grunt. "Yeah, I heard. Terrible."

Once more, tears stung her eyes. "That's all you have to say about it? No condolences, no mercy? You're just as bad as..."

No, she was not going to say that. It would only make this situation even worse.

"I don't know what you want me to say! What the hell can I say? She died, and that's terrible! That's all anybody can say!"

"She was my friend, my best friend, but of course, you wouldn't understand that! You wouldn't have any sympathy for me. Why should you? I'm only your wife. It's not like I'm your shareholders or your board or even your salesmen! They're the ones who get your sympathy, aren't they?"

He charged toward her, his head down. That usually meant he was about to start yelling. She felt her muscles tense.

"My wife wants me to give her some sympathy, huh?" he roared. "Well, my wife might have a little better shot at getting my sympathy if she acted more like a wife! When's the last time you slept with me, huh? When's the last time you did anything besides shoot up your junk and fuck around with that worthless boyfriend of yours? Huh? Huh, Terri? Yeah, I don't remember either." He gripped her arm, examining the track marks. "Disgusting. You are disgusting! Look at what you've done to yourself! You want me to treat you like my wife? You're nothing like my wife! My wife would never do something like this! I don't even know who the hell you are anymore!"

Unable to take any more, Terri broke down in sobs before him. She lifted both hands to her ears. "Stop! Stop it! Don't do this to me!"

"Hold your ears. Real mature," he taunted. "You know you can hear me. And you know what I'm saying is true. Everything we ever had is shambles now! Everything's shit! The whole life we had together? Gone! It's all gone because you ruined it! You didn't stop until you ruined it! I could..."

He didn't bother to finish his thought, but she knew exactly what he meant. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to hit her. He wanted to force her to be whatever it was he expected her to be – that image she'd never been able to live up to.

"Please don't," she pleaded.

"You ruined all of this!" he continued, with little regard to how upset she was. "You ruined everything whenever you decided this life just wasn't good enough for you anymore. When was that, anyway? Was that when you met the freak? You smell like a whore, by the way! You should bathe before I get home, because I don't ever want to smell him on you again!"

"I don't know what you mean," she murmured weakly. "I didn't..."

"You threw everything I ever gave you away, because of some little punk and now – now – you want to start crying about how I don't give you any sympathy!" He stared hard at her, his fists clenched. "It's amazing how self-centered you are! I'm the one who deserves the sympathy, you know that? You're the one fucking around on me and thumbing your nose at everything I stand for! If anybody needs sympathy, it's me, not you!"

"Stop, please stop," Terri whimpered. "Please, Lance. I know you hate me, but for one night, please don't do this."

She never expected him to actually listen to her – if anything, she thought that might egg him on. Instead, though, he only sighed. "I'm sorry about Carol," he offered, in a small voice. "But more than that, I'm sorry about us."

With that, he walked toward the kitchen. Terri continued to rock herself. "Thank you." It was the only thing she could think to say.

She could hear him slamming and banging things in there. Obviously, he was on the hunt for food. For a second, she entertained the idea of pulling herself together long enough to cook something...but what was the point? He'd find fault with it, just like he did everything else. The battle lines were clearly drawn and her best bet was to lay low tonight and let him calm down. She could figure out everything else tomorrow, when she didn't feel like she was suffocating.

Something had to change. It just had to, because she couldn't live like this anymore.

July 5, 1966; 8:45 p.m.

"YES, MOTHER, I heard. It's just terrible."

Absently, Marnie played with the telephone cord and wished she was somewhere else. She'd heard, all right – over and over and over, from every possible source. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was relive the horror of Carol's unexpected murder one more time, but she knew that could never be rude enough to tell her mother that.

If forced to sum up the mighty Helen Adams in only one word, Marnie would have to choose "lonely." The past year had been a time of upheaval, what with Daddy's death and her only child's marriage – two events that occurred less than twelve months apart. Understandably, Mother became more than a little clingy in the aftermath. It was not unusual for her to call every few hours to pass along the latest gossip floating around town. She called it her duty as the former First Lady of the city. Daddy always found it so funny when she would say that, a reference to his unprecedented two decades as Haven Park's mayor. More often than not, Marnie found it pretentious, but that was yet another thing she'd learned over time to never admit.

Today, however, Mother remained suspiciously quiet. She only called once, this morning before the news broke. The silence was so uncharacteristic that Marnie found herself wondering if she was okay, but she should have enjoyed it while she had the chance. It would appear that Mother spent the day collecting morsels of everyone else's version of Carol's murder and presented them all at a breakneck speed, with both wonder and horror in her voice.

"Can you believe it?" she asked, for at least the twentieth time. "Your father would be rolling over in his grave if he knew about all of this!"

"Yes, I'm sure he would be."

"And Stanley Rogers' daughter at that! Isn't it terrible, Margaret? You two went to school together, didn't you?"

"She was a little older than me, actually."

"You grew up together!" Mother continued dramatically. "I remember when she was just a little thing. Mona used to bring her around and she just loved you when you were little. You probably don't remember this, but she was always asking to see the baby. It was the cutest thing! I just can't believe she's gone!"

Marnie couldn't believe a lot of things – namely, that Carol had ever uttered a kind word about her, even during the innocence of childhood. "It's very sad, yes."

"Oh Margaret, I just can't believe it! And – and you know what they're saying, right? You know they're saying someone killed that poor girl! Can you imagine? What is this world coming to? Why would anybody want to kill Carol? She was such a dear person!"

"Oh yes. She was. Very dear."

"She was living with Jeff, you know! I find that all very...interesting."

Marnie stifled a groan. When Mother referred to something as "interesting", it was never a compliment. "And why is that?"

"Besides the obvious, you mean?" Mother laughed. "It hasn't escaped me that this is the same Jeff you told me you were going to marry!"

A rush of color settled over Marnie's cheeks. "Oh now...I never said I was going to marry him, did I?"

"You certainly did! I remember it well. We were all having lunch at the resort and he got up to use the telephone and you leaned across the table to me and said – "

As the memory came trickling back, Marnie shook her head, a smile on her face. "Well, I was only nineteen years old. You can hardly hold me to that statement!"

"I'm actually quite relieved things didn't work out the way you planned them! After all, it could have been you they found this morning!"

Marnie's smile faded in an instant. "Mother! That was a terrible joke!"

"It's no joke, dear. There's already a lot of talk about him being involved in this. Not that I want to believe it, but I spoke with Maryellen, and you know how she always got such an earful! He threatened her last month, you know! The police came out and everything! And now this...I don't want to believe it, but what else is there to – "

"He didn't threaten anyone," Marnie insisted. "He would never do something like that. I don't want to talk about this."

"I'm sorry to have upset you." As per the usual, Mother's voice was insincere. "It all upsets me too. He's such a...charming person. Sometimes, you just never know about people, do you?"

"Well, maybe you don't, but I do!" Marnie paused, for just a moment. She'd never normally be this bold, but she had to draw the line somewhere. Over the years, she'd heard a lot of crazy things come out of her mother's mouth, but this one took the cake.

How in the world could anyone believe Jeff could be capable of something like that? He loved that insufferable harpy – no matter how miserable she made him. It was plain to see, and anyone who ever said otherwise had no idea what they were talking about. No matter how drunk she got, no matter how many fights they had, he still stayed with her and he still assumed responsibility for two children that weren't even his. It would have been so easy for him to just walk away, but he didn't. That said something. It said there was absolutely no way he could have done something like this – no way in hell.

It was just last week when Marnie last saw him; Wednesday, if she wasn't mistaken. He dropped by the office to bring her lunch, and talk for a while. It was something they did every so often, and it never failed to infuriate Carol. She was always so jealous, despite the fact nothing improper ever took place. Those days were long over. All they ever did was sit and talk anymore, and Marnie was always so glad to be able to provide him with an outlet to vent how he felt. Last Wednesday was no exception.

"She is driving me crazy. I'm telling you, I am losing my mind because of that woman!"

"What is she doing now?" Marnie asked, in between scribbling yet another message for Brett. "What's the problem?"

"I don't even know anymore," Jeff admitted. "One minute, things are just fine and the next, she's going crazy. She's so paranoid. I'm always cheating on her, with this one or that one or even you, for God's sake."

"Me? You've got to be kidding."

"Oh she hates you. But then, you knew that."

"That's not really anything new, no."

"All we ever do is fight anymore. It's insane. It's just insane."

Marnie played with her straw, carefully choosing her words. She wasn't sure if she should be the one to point this out, or how Jeff would react to it, but she really did have his best interest at heart. "Sometimes, it's best to just cut your losses and move on if things are really that disastrous."

Jeff shook his head. "I've thought about it. Believe me, I've thought about it, but those kids need me, you know? They need somebody – maybe not me, but somebody. It's not like they have her or anything."

"But is it really worth saving because of the children? I don't mean to be harsh, and please don't misinterpret what I'm saying, but...if the only reason you're still there is the children need you, that can't be good for either of you."

"I never said it was the only reason. It is a pretty big reason, though."

"Well, do you love her?"

Noticeably, he hesitated. "I guess. I guess I do. It's kind of hard to determine how I feel about her at this point, because of everything that's going on. I know I did love her. I loved the person she used to be, before all of this happened, so...I guess so."

"Guessing so isn't really a great foundation for a relationship. It's no wonder you're having problems."

"We had some good times, we really did. And sometimes, once in a blue moon, we actually still have them. And then, you know, the kids. Those kids are my whole world. I don't think I ever could leave, no matter how bad everything got. I mean, where the hell else am I going to go? My world is right there. And besides, love overlooks bad stuff, doesn't it? I think that's in the Bible, right? You know it better than I do."

"It is, in Corinthians. Love is patient, kind, self-sacrificing, and many other wonderful things, according to the apostle Paul."

"The apostle Paul didn't live with Carol Mathison! He might've been singing a different tune if he did."

"Do you think it's worth making it work?" Marnie asked, leaning forward. "Because that's the most important thing. If you think it's worth making this work, then fight for it. If not, then...well..."

For a few moments, Jeff appeared to consider the possibilities. "I do think it's worth making it work," he finally resolved. "If only for those good times, you know? I'm holding on for those good times, and we're gonna have them again. It's just a matter of time."

Marnie remembered being struck particularly by his optimism, and good humor, though his personal life was a mess. That was the Jeff she knew – easy going, charming, eternal optimist – not the scheming opportunist the local gossips (including her own mother, to her chagrin) tried so hard to make him out to be...and certainly not a murderer! Oh, my goodness, the thought was just inconceivable!

"Margaret? Are you all right?"

Her mother's concerned voice snapped Marnie back to her surroundings. She cleared her throat. "Yes, Mother, of course. I'm sorry."

"Everyone is so up in arms about this sort of thing happening here! I can imagine you're quite shaken up about it too."

"Yes," Marnie admitted, as she eyed Evan's sleeping pills on the night stand. They were looking better and better all the time. She could certainly use a good night's rest after this day of turmoil! "What I think I'm going to do is just try and get some rest. Have a good night. I will call you tomorrow, as soon as I get a chance."

"Oh. Yes. Okay, then." Mother sounded disappointed, as she often did when Marnie came up with an excuse to get off the phone. "Sleep well, dear. And give my very best to Evan, of course."

"Yes, absolutely, I will. Good night, Mother."

Chapter Four:

July 6, 1966; 9:30 a.m.

JEFF WAS ON the phone with his brother when the knock came and, annoyed by the interruption, he almost didn't go to the door. It was probably just another well-meaning, but terminally nosy, neighbor who'd come by to offer "condolences." There'd been a steady stream of them since last night, and all they wanted to do was bait him into saying something that could have been incriminating. It might've sounded paranoid, but sadly, it was true.

They said things like, I can't imagine who would do such a thing...can you? Then, they'd cast long, suspicious glances in his direction. He halfway expected to hear a dramatic organ chord in the background when they did it. It felt like he was in the middle of some shitty noir film from 1946, and that alone was hard to handle...but it got worse. Mrs. James, from across the road, gave him the once-over a few times, then boldly remarked, "Well, you really don't look like a murderer. And I guess you couldn't have done it, otherwise the police never would have let you go so soon."

Of course, there was always the possibility Shane had returned, to continue harassing and humiliating him. What a crazy, condescending bastard. If Jeff never saw him again, it would be too soon. What right did he have to say any of the shit he said yesterday? What proof, for that matter? He couldn't prove a thing – there just wasn't a damned thing to prove. Truth be told, he had no business being involved in this investigation to begin with. His personal ties to the victim were way too strong.

Fynnu'r cyfreithiwr was his brother Steve's advice, but the last thing he wanted to do was get an attorney involved. That was what guilty people did – and he was certainly not guilty. There was nothing a lawyer could accomplish at this point, anyway...nothing but further convince everyone he had something to hide. At least, though, the people who mattered weren't part of the lynch mob.

He'd expected Stan to be just as furious as Shane, but he'd been reasonable about the whole thing. He came by yesterday, after the whole fiasco, and said he and Mona thought it would be best to take the kids for a few days, until everything died down. Jeff was left with little choice but to agree. If nothing else, it bought him a little more time – he had yet to figure out just where to go from here, and as unpleasant as it was, he needed to start thinking about it fast. The odds were, Stan was not going to be that nice forever.

Another, louder knock resounded through the living room, and Jeff groaned. "Hey, there's somebody at the door and they're not going away. Gadewch i mi eich ffonio'n yn. Okay?"

Moments like this one made him painfully aware of how alone he was. The privilege of speaking Welsh without Carol hovering over his shoulder and insisting every single syllable was about her was nice, but it still made him sad. It was always such a chore to diffuse her paranoia – and it was the very reason he never called Steve anymore, though he found it a lot easier to blame the long-distance charges. The silence bothered him even more, though, serving as a poignant reminder. It was just one of many he'd been confronted with over the past twenty-four hours, and they were starting to wear down his resolve.

If Steve picked up on it, he didn't let it show. "That's fine. I should be here all day. And remember: cyfreithiwr."

"I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, but okay. Hwyl."

With a heavy sigh, Jeff hung up the phone and moved toward the door. His heart was pounding, as irrational as that was. He needed to be calm right now, especially if this was yet another accuser in sheep's clothing. He couldn't let them get to him, no matter what they said.

Still, that was a lot easier said than done, wasn't it? So much for innocent until proven guilty in this town. They really needed to be worried about their own damned selves. After all, there was some crazy person out there killing people! Instead of hounding someone who had nothing to do with it, Shane and every other busybody in Haven Park needed to be worried about finding the real killer...before they struck again.

Jeff swung open the door with a scowl on his face, and was greeted by Marnie's radiant smile. "Marnie. Bore da – uh, good morning."

"Bore da," she parroted, without losing her smile. "Hope this isn't a bad time."

"It's never a bad time for you. Come on in."

"I really can't stay long. I am supposed to be at work right now, but I wanted to come by and tell you how deeply sorry I am about Carol." As she stepped inside, she extended out the Tupperware container in her hand. "And bring you something. It's not much. I mean, you know what a horrible cook I am, but I did want you to at least have something."

"That's very nice. Thank you. You, uh, you wanna sit down? The place is a mess, I know. I haven't had a chance to...you know, clean it."

"I'm not worried about how clean your house is. I'm worried about how you and the children are doing."

Jeff debated how to respond to that. "Me?" he finally shrugged. "Well, I've seen better days, that's for sure, but I'm all right. I guess I have to be. The kids...well, I don't know how much of this they actually understand. They're not here, as you can tell, so I don't really know how they're doing. They're, uh...they're pretty young, though, so I'm hoping that makes some kind of difference. I don't know. You, uh, want something to drink? Coffee or tea or something? I might have some juice..."

Marnie lifted her head, and in that moment, their eyes locked. The moment was so intense he darted for the kitchen before giving her a chance to answer. It was obvious – painfully obvious – what she came here to do, and he didn't want any part of it. Pity was better served to someone else; someone who might've actually deserved it.

He searched the cabinet for a glass, trying to ignore how terrible he felt. Remorse had one hell of a grip, and it served to make the situation even harder. He had to get control.

Marnie was right beside him, biting her lip. "Jeff?"

"It's around here someplace. We have a bunch of them, actually. But they must all be dirty. Or something. Hell, I don't know. I don't know anything anymore, but then, did I ever?" He made the standard self-deprecating joke, and forced himself to laugh at it.

She found no humor. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine, just fine. I just can't find anything in this fucking house. Carol always left everything such a mess. She blamed that on me – she always blamed it on me, but I was the one who would come behind her and clean up everything and – and – fuck it, Marnie, I don't know!"

Frustrated, he slammed the cabinet door and immediately regretted having done so; it only intensified the worry on her face. "I'm so, so sorry," she murmured, placing a hand on his arm.

"You need to get to work, huh? Yeah. You said you did. So maybe you should get going and I can see what I can do about cleaning up this mess and we can try for this whole thing – whatever it is – some other time."

He felt even more awkward than he sounded and he found it damned near impossible to even glance in her direction. Her eyes were just way too sincere, and they said way too much...more than her silence ever could.

Intent on escorting her to the door, he took her arm. "Well, thanks for coming by, Marn. Don't be a stranger, okay? Sorry that everything's kind of a mess right now, but it'll get better. Eventually."

"I have time," she attempted to protest. "I can stay if you want me to."

"You have way better things to do than babysit me. I'm okay. I'm really okay. And you don't wanna be late. I know how much you hate being late, so – "

"Let go of me." The force in her voice surprised him, as did the way she jerked her arm away from him. "Now you stop this. You are not fooling anyone, least of all me."

He directed his response to the floor, unable to lie right to her face. "I'm not trying to fool anyone."

"Please don't shut me out. I just want to help you."

He knew she did, and that was what made the whole thing so unbearable. Refusing her felt cruel, especially given how sincere she was about it, but breaking down and feeling sorry for himself was a luxury he'd never been able to indulge in. There was never time for that kind of thing – he'd learned that one early on.

In order to survive, you had to be quick on your feet. You had to always be plotting your next move. You could never get too comfortable, because if you did, you'd end up crumpled on the floor when something like this happened. That wasn't acceptable. He couldn't give in, not now. There was far too much else that needed to be done to give in now.

"I'm okay," he assured, after what felt like a whole decade of uncomfortable silence. "I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, but right now, I think I just need to be alone, okay?"

She sighed. It was obvious she wanted to argue about that, but luckily, she didn't. "All right, but if you need anything – "

"You'll be the first person I call," he promised, with a half-hearted smile. "You're one hell of a woman, you know that?"

She lifted a hand in shy dismissal of his compliment. "I'm really not. I just care about my friends."

"Well, that's more than I can say for half of the people around here."

He opened the door and immediately spotted Mrs. James, with that stupid dog of hers. She was standing in her driveway, staring straight in his direction. Shit. She was usually a whole lot more subtle about it than that.

"Speaking of which," he muttered. "What the hell is she doing?"

"Trying to get a good story," Marnie replied, extending a cheery wave to their audience. "So don't give her one."

Marnie's friendliness had the unintentional consequence of luring the nosy old bat across the road, dog in tow. Jeff took a step back. This was the very last thing he needed right now.

It seemed Marnie could read his mind. "I'll handle her," she promised, in a barely audible voice. "You just go inside. Take care of yourself, okay? Call me if you need anything. And give my love to the – Mrs. James, good morning!"

The older woman smiled as she approached, but one look at her eyes proved that smile was just as fake as the wig that crookedly adorned her head. "Good morning, Margaret...Jeff."

He managed a nod in her direction, before making the quickest retreat possible back into the safe solitude of the house. The way she looked at him was so...cold. Everyone was looking at him that way now, and it was unnerving. They didn't even have to say it – he already knew exactly what they were thinking: you killed that girl and you're not going to get away with it.

Cyfreithiwr. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all. They all seemed convinced he needed one, and maybe he did...because it was obvious getting through this mess was not going to be so easy on his own.

July 6, 1966; 9:40 a.m.

JULIA TAPPED THE pencil in her hand and once more consulted her watch. Seated at what was usually Marnie's desk, she had a pile of Brett's ramblings to make sense of, a women's retreat to plan and a gnawing feeling at the pit of her stomach. Coming here had been a bad idea, she just knew it.

It was an onslaught of phone calls for the first hour, and Julia had no idea how Brett handled them so patiently. She ran out of things to say within ten minutes – especially after they made it clear they didn't want to talk to her anyway. The only one who welcomed conversation was Mrs. Webb, a senior with a perpetual scowl on her face. Julia had known the woman for more than a decade and she'd never heard her utter a kind word about anyone. This morning was no exception.

After talking about how angry she was that her community had been "invaded" by such "horrific violence", Mrs. Webb set her sights on the one she deemed responsible – Jeff. She said, among other things, that he needed to be hung for what he did to Carol. Julia was so surprised she almost dropped the phone, but it didn't end there. Mrs. Webb said that she "knew" he did it, because nobody else would have wanted Carol to die. Julia began to remind her that it was not very Christ-like to judge so harshly (okay, maybe she was a little less polite about it than that) but Brett stepped in before she could say much else, and graciously agreed to take the call.

Julia had no sooner recovered from Mrs. Webb's accusations when the back door of the office opened. She turned toward it, an expectant smile playing across her lips. "You're late, Marnie."

Only, it wasn't Marnie. It was Terri, dressed in an oversized blue sweater, a black mini skirt, and earrings that hung down past her shoulders. "Good morning, Julia. Is Brett busy?"

Julia's mouth hung agape for a second, reeling from the ridiculous way in which Terri was dressed, before she managed, "He's on the phone right now."

"Oh. Okay, then. I can wait." Without an invitation, Terri took a seat in the chair facing Julia. She smiled. "You look very pretty today."

Julia did her best to smile back. "Thank you. You do too. But really, a sweater like that as hot as it is?"

Terri began to nervously rub her left arm. "Oh, well...I wanted to make a statement, I guess."

Julia kept her plastic grin. "Well, you have certainly done that!"

For a few moments, there was silence. Terri fumbled in her purse for her cigarettes, while Julia only continued to stare at her. She knew that she didn't need to pass judgment – especially after hearing how offensive it was coming out of Mrs. Webb, but she couldn't help but shake her head. Who in their right mind would wear something like that to a church? Why, the very same person who would conveniently blame every single person around her for all of her problems! Julia wasn't at all surprised.

"So is Marnie's late this morning?"

Terri's question recaptured Julia's attention. "Oh, yes, but just a little."

"That's kind of strange, don't you think? She's almost never late."

"She probably had a rough night. A lot of people are upset about...you know."

Terri nodded, as she lit a cigarette. "Yes. I know."

Julia shifted around in her chair. "While you're here, I did want to tell you how deeply sorry I am. I know you were very close to Carol."

"Thank you. Thank you very much." Terri fanned her face, in what Julia could only presume was an attempt to ward off some imaginary tears. "I was hoping I wouldn't cry, damn it! I'm sorry."

Before Julia could say anything, the door to Brett's office opened. "Hey Jules, please, please be careful what you say to her, okay? You know how she is."

For just a moment, Julia wondered if he was referring to Terri. "You mean Mrs. Webb?" she asked. "I didn't say much of anything."

He didn't look like he believed that for a second, but he didn't say anything of it, instead turning his attention to Terri. "Morning, Peaches. How are you holding up?"

Terri rose from her chair. "Well...I wanted to talk to you. If you have a minute."

"Yeah, sure. I've always got time for you. You know that."

It took all Julia had not to roll her eyes in front of them. And here we go again. Poor, poor Peaches. Her life couldn't possibly get any worse but...oh, wait, it just did! Oh no! What do we do now?

The ironic thing was, Brett always said that. He would always make a point to say, "what do we do" instead of "what do I do", despite the fact he never listened to anything Julia advised him on the subject. She had no idea why he bothered to ask her at all. He already knew what to do – the same thing he'd been doing for over twenty years: hold her hand, tell her the whole thing was not her fault and jump into the firefight to save her from her own poor choices.

Julia was, in essence, Terri's polar opposite – dearest little Peaches couldn't possibly do anything wrong, but every single thing she did was cause for alarm, especially where the parishioners were concerned. Why hadn't she just stayed home?

"Hey Jules, you don't mind grabbing the phones for a few more minutes, do you?"

"Of course not," she agreed, in her most pleasant voice. "Hope I don't upset someone, though!"

"I hope you don't either, because it took five minutes to calm her down."

The words were as calm as ever, but they still made Julia scathe. Apparently, it was her fault Mrs. Webb had woken up on the wrong side of the bed every single morning for the past seventy-three years.

He didn't bother closing the door, leaving Julia privy to their entire conversation...which was especially ironic given Terri opened the floor with, so Julia was a little nicer to me than usual today. That was a refreshing change of pace.

If he responded to that, it wasn't at a volume Julia could discern. The next words she heard were Terri's, with what sounded like a nervous laugh – the same nervous laugh she always used when she was trying to get her way about something. It never failed.

"I know. We've been over it. Julia doesn't hate me, she doesn't dislike me, she's just reserved. Even though she's not reserved with anybody but me, but that's okay. It's okay! That's not what I came here to talk to you about, anyway. I'm just trying to make small talk so I can calm down a little and not be so nervous about asking you this."

And just like that, the trap was set. It was sickening to observe and Julia found herself wishing the phone would ring so she wouldn't have to hear it.

"Asking me what?"

"I almost don't know where to start. There's so much to say. Just...wow." Again, Terri let out that same irritating laugh. "I want you to know I've really thought about this, okay? I've been up almost all night thinking about this and I prayed about it and I've cried about it and...and I'm just at the end of my rope with it. I hate asking you, but I know you'll know what to do. You always do."

Flattery, the icing on the cake. Julia shook her head. Maybe instead of mocking the whole thing, she should've taken notes. Clearly, Terri knew how to get precisely what she wanted out of Brett – and that could come in handy.

"Help you with...what, exactly?"

Terri didn't say anything for a very long time. If Julia knew her at all, she was probably conjuring up some tears to go along with her request. It was the only component that was missing.

"Well..." she finally said. "It's about Lance..."

July 6, 1966; 11:25 a.m.

"YEAH." DISTRACTED, SHANE picked up the phone. It was supposed to be his lunch hour, but these days, that amounted to little more than blindly picking at whatever he could scavenge up from his benevolent co-workers and continuing to pour over the files before him, in the vain hope something of substance might pop out at him.

"Shane! What the hell is going on?"

He straightened up in his chair and shoved the files aside. "With what, sir?"

"This whole mess!" Stanley Rogers answered, as though it should have been obvious. "I got all kinds of people at my door, I got reporters calling me, from places I've never even heard of, and everyone wants to know what the hell is going on. And since I don't know, I'm asking you. What the hell is going on? Have you come any closer to getting the bastard that killed my daughter yet?"

Shane sighed. "I wish I had good news for you..."

"I heard you had someone in for questioning yesterday, but you let him go. That can't be true, right? You wouldn't do that, would you?" Stanley's voice was pleading, and he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

"Uh, well..." Shane felt his heart sink. He could not imagine the pain Stan and Mona were going through right now. The only solace they might have had in the end was their daughter's killer would be brought to justice in a swift and timely fashion...and twenty-four hours later, that wasn't looking likely.

"Well what?" Stan prodded. "That's not true, is it?"

"Uh, okay," Shane began, willing his voice steady. "We did bring Jeff in yesterday, but right now we don't have much so – "

"Wait just a goddamned minute! You mean tell me that you brought Jeff in? That son of a bitch is no killer, Shane! There's no way in hell he did it! Why would you waste your time on him?"

"It's, uh...it's all we've got right now, but we're working on it, okay?" Shane realized how standard the whole thing sounded, and he hated having to say it. "I'm not gonna let you down, Stan, I promise. I loved her just as much as you did."

"Well, then, get off your ass! Get up and do something! Don't just sit there waiting for the motherfucker to come to you! My God, that was my daughter!"

"I know. I know."

"Don't sit there and tell me that you know, damn it! You don't know! You don't know what we are going through right now and to hear you're just sitting around and wasting your time – what the hell else do you have to do? What the hell could possibly be more important than finding the bastard who killed my daughter? I refuse to believe you don't have anything. I refuse! Do I need to go down there and do this my damned self? Because I will."

It took Shane a moment to find his voice. "No. No, you don't have to do that. I know what I'm doing."

"Well, then, you better start acting like it! Get out there and do something! Bring in dogs! Call the FBI! Call the CIA! Call President fucking Johnson if you have to, just do something! Damn it, that was my daughter!" In an instant, all of Stan's anger dissolved into sorrow, and it was excruciating to hear.

"I, uh...I'm doing what I can, okay?" Shane promised.

"Well," Stan resolved, through his tears, "it's not enough."

With that, he slammed the phone down. Shane took in a deep breath. It was impossible not to take something like that personally, especially given that every single word was true. Damn it, he did need to be doing a whole lot more than he was. Namely, he needed to figure out a way to prove what his gut knew to be true...but where the hell could he start?

Chapter Five:

July 6, 1966; 5:20 p.m.

LUCAS BRADY SWORE beneath his breath as he peered through the hole in his blinds. He was not expecting company...not of the male variety anyway, and from what he could tell from this sideways obstructed view, his visitor was decidedly male. The only thing he could discern from this angle was a tan sport coat and a watch – a very, very nice watch. Who the hell was that? He didn't know anybody who could afford a watch like that, unless...

No, that was crazy. It couldn't be, because he'd kept a really low profile and he'd gone out of his way not to draw attention to himself and every single time one of those pathetic bottom-feeders showed up, he shooed them away. There was no way any of them would have bothered to sell him out – that required speaking fluent English, and they were little more than re-animated zombies by the time they showed up at his door.

Still, that did little to soothe his racing heart as he scrambled through the apartment to hide his inventory. The good news was, he'd managed to unload most of the shit in Colorado. The bad news, however, was that wouldn't matter at all if this was about Cheyenne...not that this could have been about Cheyenne. That was nothing but paranoia on his part. There was no way, because nobody knew about that here. Nobody but Terri, anyway, and she would never tell his secrets. She knew better.

Lucas didn't know why the hell he was so nervous. There was nothing to this. All he had to do was open the door, figure out what the fuck this cat wanted, then see him on his way. It was just that simple. It wasn't the cops, it wasn't about Cheyenne, it wasn't any of Roy's crazy, well-off associates come to make good on that threat – it was nothing at all. Absolutely nothing.

"Open the fucking door!" shouted a voice from outside. "I know you're in there!"

Okay, that didn't sound like nothing. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! One more time, Lucas did a quick scan of the living room. It looked clean enough. Without digging around, nobody would know what was going on here – he just hoped they didn't feel the need to dig.

Willing his hand steady, he slowly opened the door...and found himself face-to-face with an irate Lance Englund. "You," he whispered, exhaling his relief.

"Me," the old bastard repeated, his arms crossed. "I'm the last person you wanted to see, right?"

"Actually," Lucas admitted, with just a hint of a smirk on his face, "you're quite a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

For just a moment, Lance just stood there, shaking his head. It didn't look like he knew how to answer that question. "I wanna talk to you," he finally announced. "Man to man. Or man to freak, as it were."

More like freak to misogynistic windbag coward. "I don't really have much to say to you."

Lance stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. "Well, I've got something to say to you! I know what's going on with you and my wife!"

His contempt was more amusing than anything else. Lucas nodded. "I was hoping you did. I never intended it to be any kind of secret."

That only seemed to make Lance madder. "I want it to stop, do you hear me? I want it to stop right now!"

There were a thousand things Lucas wanted to say in response to that. He wanted to demand who the hell Lance was to make that kind of decision. He wanted to remind him there was a reason his wife sought comfort elsewhere. He wanted to get just as angry and red-faced and huff and puff, too, but as he stood there, he realized that was precisely what Lance wanted. It was just like the son of a bitch to come over here and pick a fight, so he could use it against him. It would give him way too much pleasure to be met with contempt or, worse, violence. Then, he could run back to his upstanding buddies and cry about how this miscreant had ruined his life.

Lucas paused to reflect on that. Miscreant? Did Lance even know what that meant? No, probably not. He would be far more likely use simpler terms, like freak and punk. And he would spread his story far and wide, taking full advantage of his influence over this backward cesspool of do-gooders. That was why, no matter how satisfying it would be to shank the motherfucker right here, Lucas had to stick to the methodical approach.

"You can't stop a freight train, brother," he offered, with a shrug. "Can't be done."

Lance threw his head back and closed his eyes. "A freight train? A fucking freight train? All right, I'm not asking you this time! I'm telling you, stay the hell away from my wife! I mean it!"

"You don't make those kinds of decisions, okay? You don't have that kind of authority. I know you like to think you do, but you don't."

"Now you listen to me!" Lance's voice was at full volume as he leaned closer. It was obvious he was trying to intimidate – and while it might've worked with Terri, it damned sure wasn't going to get him far here.

"No, see, I don't have to listen to you, because you don't mean anything to me. I'm not one of those people who's going to hang on your every word. Your status doesn't impress me, your money doesn't impress me..." Lucas took a moment to size up his competition. "You don't impress me, so I'll tell you what you can do. You can take your bellowing ass right back where you came from, because I don't wanna hear it. How's that?"

As predicted, Lance did not take that well. "That is my wife, not your whore!"

Methodical. Methodical! Mother fucking methodical!

"She's not my whore. She's not my anything. I don't own her, and neither do you. Look, brother, I don't really have time for this."

"I'm not fucking around with you!" Lance snarled. He was shaking with rage. "You ruined my marriage and you ruined my wife's life and I do make her decisions for her, because she's too stoned half the time to make them for herself! You leave her alone! Stay away from her! Forget you even know her, because I swear to God, if you bother her again, I'm gonna – "

"What? What are you gonna do? Are you gonna come over here and yell at me some more? How about you knock me around, just like you do her? Bet you won't try that, will you? Bet you won't, because you're nothing but a fucking coward. You'd get killed if you tried that shit with me – and you know that, don't you?"

"Did you just fucking threaten me? Because I'll have you arrested, you little punk! I'll have you arrested faster than your head can spin! I know people around here, and I can get rid of someone like you fast!"

So much for methodical. The arrogance proved to be far more infuriating than Lucas could've imagined, and before he could think better of it, he'd jerked Lance forward by the collar of his sport coat. "Let's get one thing straight right now. I'm not Terri, and I'm not afraid of you. I don't care who you know and I don't care how much money you have. I'm not somebody you can push around, got it? I hope you do, because if you don't stay the fuck out of my face, you're gonna be sorry. Now that – that – was a threat, but unlike you, I don't go leveling empty threats at people."

Though the words were barely above a whisper, they seemed to have the desired effect. Lance squirmed free, wide-eyed, and took a step back. "You're gonna regret that," he promised, his voice trembling. "This isn't over!"

It took all Lucas had not to laugh in the man's face. Lance Englund was a prime example of what became of school yard bullies. Those greedy little bastards who cornered you and made your life miserable grew up to be overbearing, self-important blowhards, who tried very hard to recapture their old glories. However, it proved to be a whole lot more difficult to shove a grown man around, and once the bully realized this, he almost always slithered away.

"Stay away from my wife or else!" Lance shouted, from the safety of his luxury car. "I'm not fucking around with you!"

"I'm not fucking around with you either," Lucas muttered, beneath his breath. "I'll see you in hell before I'll let you take her away from me."

July 6, 1966; 6:15 p.m.

"THIS WAS LOVELY, but truly, it wasn't necessary, Evan."

Marnie put down the glass in her hand and stared in wonder across the table at her husband. This was the second night in a row she'd come home exhausted – and she halfway expected him to be making a spectacle of himself in the living room. Instead, a romantic dinner awaited her, complete with candles and soft music.

Evan reached across the table to take her hand. "I felt I owed this much to you. I haven't really been myself lately. I actually think this has been progressing for a while, but it's gotten a lot worse in the past few weeks."

"The anniversary," she provided. It was something she'd been dreading for a month now.

Evan looked down at the table. "I think there's more to it, actually. I really don't know how to say this, Marnie...but I think I might be losing my mind."

She couldn't dispute that fast enough. "No, of course you're not. It's just been a very difficult few weeks, and the anniversary always upsets you. It always has. You're not losing your mind! For Heaven's sake."

He ran a nervous hand over his face. "I think I am. Too many strange things are happening. It's easy to write off one or two, but this many? This isn't stress. This isn't the anniversary. Something's very wrong with me."

Marnie sat in silence as she struggled to process that. It was hardly out of the ordinary for Evan to denounce himself as "crazy", but the conviction behind his words this time gave her pause. "What do you mean, exactly?"

He looked up to meet her eyes, and then he looked away. "I've done some very...some very bad things."

"Like what?"

"Well...the fiasco last night for one."

"That?" she forced herself to laugh, though nothing about this was very funny. "I told you that was fine! I told you I understand!"

He rose from the table. His hands were shaking. "But I don't. I don't understand it, Marnie, because it doesn't make sense. I don't make sense anymore, don't you see? Don't you see that I'm..."

"I think you are being way too hard on yourself. I think you're under a tremendous amount of stress, and the circumstances of Francine's anniversary have gotten to you. And you've been drinking way too much lately. I think that is the problem more than anything, Evan. Bad things tend to happen when you drink. We both know that."

As the words escaped her lips, Marnie kicked herself. She never should have been so bold. Granted, she'd never been one for holding her tongue, but she had learned to hold back a lot for Evan's sake. He just couldn't handle it. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, and that almost always started a fight.

This time, though, it did little more than make him sigh. "Yes. I know that. I've been drinking way too much, and I admit that. But that's not the problem. There's all this...there's so much...I don't even know!"

She stood, moving toward him. "Why don't you calm down a little, finish your dinner and then we can talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" he shot back. "I haven't been myself. I've been doing terrible things. I'm losing my mind! I think that pretty much covers it, don't you?"

I've been doing terrible things.

As much as she tried to ignore it and look at the bigger picture, something about that line stuck with her. What terrible things could he have done? He said he meant things like last night, but that was far from terrible. Maybe he was just being hard on himself...or maybe there was more to this story than he was letting on.

She wasn't sure she even wanted to know, but she heard herself ask, "Evan, what have you done?"

He walked toward her, taking her face in his hands. His touch was gentle, as always, but the unexpected nature of it made her flinch. She could see him searching her eyes, and wanted to backpedal, but before she could, he whispered, "Don't ask me that. It's better that you don't know."

Her eyes widened. That sounded ominous...way too ominous, especially juxtaposed against his "murder confession" last night – and the talk of the town right now, poor dead Carol Mathison.

She shook her head. No, it couldn't be. Evan was a lot of things, but he was definitely no murderer. And besides, he barely knew Carol. Evan was never the type who got involved with the neighbors. He enjoyed keeping to himself. Therefore, he knew little to nothing about Carol and would have no reason to kill her.

Unless...no. That only happened one time, in the privacy of their living room. Evan would never dream of doing something like that in public – he was far too private for that type of spectacle. Still, Marnie's mind couldn't help but wander back to the night a few months back, when Evan's visions of Francine turned violent.

He would never hurt her, and she knew that, but he still became so angry with "Francine" that for just a moment, she believed he might. The rage was startling, and sobering at the same time. He screamed at her like a maniac for five minutes and went to so far as to lift his hand to her, but seemed to snap to his senses at the last minute. He apologized profusely for the whole thing and, though shaken, Marnie forgave him. It was all trauma – unresolved trauma that he'd never found any closure for. And the alcohol made it worse.

But that would never happen with anyone else. Evan never showed that side of himself to anyone but her. She was the one he felt comfortable with. She was the one he could trust with every aspect of himself, even the darkest ones. There would never be a reason for him to mistake Carol for Francine, nor to lash out at her in any way. Simply put, Evan was being much too hard on himself again. He was famous for that. She had to stop reading into his words. What he was saying was far more important than any subtext involved.

"I don't want you to know," he continued, his voice shaking. "I...I couldn't live with myself if you knew about this, because it's so embarrassing and – "

"Whatever it is, we can work through it," she assured.

"No. No we can't. We can't work through this. We...we can't work through this, Marnie!" He spun around without warning, and began to pace in the direction of the stairs. "Please don't ask me about it anymore. I don't want you to be caught up in any of this and I don't want you to hate me. Please, please don't hate me. I couldn't live with myself if I made you hate me!"

"I could never hate you!" she promised, right behind him. "I don't know what you're talking about! You have your problems, Evan – everyone does, but that doesn't make me hate you. It makes me want to help you get better because I love you. Don't you see?"

He didn't say anything for what felt like an eternity. "I need to lie down," he finally announced, ending the painful silence between them. "I don't feel well."

Marnie opened her mouth to say something, but instead only nodded. None of her words would matter anyway. This was a cycle that had to play itself out.

Evan had to degrade himself, call himself crazy, swear he was losing his mind, rebuff her comfort and then insulate in his private refuge of stiff liquor and photographs of Francine. There was nothing she could do about any of it...and that was what hurt the most.

July 6, 1966; 9:45 p.m.

BRETT WEDGED HIS hands in his pockets as he approached the bar, and did his best to frown. "You know, Jesus did ask us to meet people where they are...but I'm not sure how He felt about people who are supposed to know better."

With a groan, Shane set his drink down. "Don't. Don't do it, okay? I didn't call you down here to be Rev, I called you down here to be my friend. Just for one night, huh?"

"Oh wow, I dunno. You know how much pleasure I get out of judging you. I mean, after inciting Lance to riot, that's probably my favorite thing to do."

That had the desired effect. Shane laughed. "You're such a fucking smartass."

Brett slid onto the barstool beside his friend. "Yeah, but let's not talk about me. How are you doing?"

"You wanna know how I'm doing?" Shane knocked back what was probably his seventh or eighth shot in one gulp, then slammed the glass down onto the wooden bar with such force Brett was surprised it didn't shatter. "That's how I'm doing."

"Well, that pretty much sums it up. Is there anything I can do?"

"Besides sit here and watch me get even more fucked up than I already am? No, I don't think so. You know, I should be ashamed of myself right now. I'm corrupting you again. I'm corrupting the paragon of virtue!"

"Paragon of virtue, huh? You really are drunk." Brett took the liberty of stealing one of Shane's cigarettes. "And besides, it wouldn't be the first time. I got all of my bad habits from you."

Shane indicated his desire for another round with one hand, and rested his face in the other. "Rev, I'm fucked up."

"I know. I know you are."

"And – and I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I should be better than this and I should get up and do something and goddamn it, I know you're right, but I don't know what the hell to do right now, because Carol...fuck! Fuck! You know? Fuck!" Shane repeated the word so many times that Brett lost count, and each time, he seemed a little more upset.

"I know." It was the most comforting thing Brett could think of, but he knew damned well how lacking it was.

"I don't even know what to say. What am I supposed to say about something like this? This isn't supposed to happen here, right? Right? And for it to happen to her? On my watch? No. Fuck no, Rev. Fuck no!"

"Don't blame yourself for this. This isn't your fault."

"See, I think it is. I think it is, because I should have been out there. I should have seen the signs a long time ago, and I should have protected her!" Shane shifted on the barstool to face him head-on. There were tears in his eyes. "It was my responsibility to protect her and I fucked it all up and now she's dead. Don't tell me that's not my fault."

Brett twirled the cigarette between his fingers. "I, uh...I wish I could tell you that I know how you feel," he ventured. "But I can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Shane blinked rapidly, in an obvious attempt to keep himself from breaking down. "There's this...helplessness, you know? It's like this elephant sitting on your chest, day and night. It's all you can think about and you know something? I keep thinking about everything and I keep going over all these little things and there's so much that I messed up. There are so many chances I didn't take. I could have helped her, but I didn't even try and...goddamn it, I didn't even try! I need a drink. Where's my fucking drink? Hey Charlie! Where's my fucking drink?"

"You're drink's coming," Brett assured. "It's coming. Just hang on."

"I know you think I'm crazy, but I can't stop thinking about her! You weren't there that night. You didn't see the way she was shaking. I know that guy did something to her and I had the chance to stop him."

"Listen, you can't keep – "

Brett's attempt at reason fell on deaf ears. "I'm supposed to protect people, right? I had all of these stupid fantasies about saving people when I was a kid. I wanted to be fucking Superman, saving the damsel in distress! That's why I wanted to do this in the first place! Remember that? That's all I've ever wanted to do – be a hero, be somebody my dad would be proud of! Right?"

Shane looked to Brett for affirmation, and he nodded. "Right. I remember."

"And the one time – the one fucking time in my whole life, Rev – that I might be able to actually live up to all of that, what do I do? I fuck it all up! I ignore every single red flag I ever got about that guy! I'm not there when she needs me and now she's dead! She is fucking dead, and that motherfucker is sitting in her house and laughing about how he got away with the whole thing because I can't prove anything and – and – and fuck!"

The more Shane said, the louder his words became. Brett took a look around. "You've, uh, got an audience," he muttered. "Might wanna keep it down."

"I have an audience? Good. That's just what I needed!" Despite his inebriation, Shane still climbed atop the bar much faster than Brett could stop him, and announced, "Haven Park, I owe you an apology. I have let you down, and I let Carol Mathison down, may she rest in peace. I ignored everything I should have been watching for, and she's dead now because of it, and I am sorry. I'm so very sorry."

The bar patrons (all ten of them) looked to each other, then back to Shane, and they all had the same amused look on their faces. It seemed that the only person who wasn't laughing was Brett, who stood to guide his friend back down. "I really don't think you know what you're doing right now," he whispered. "And I think you're probably really gonna regret this in the morning."

Shane collapsed back onto his barstool. "You know what? Maybe I will. But...fuck. I was supposed to protect her!"

"This is not your fault." Brett made sure to emphasize each word carefully. "None of this is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong."

Shane leaned forward to rest his face in his hands. "But...I loved her!"

The ache behind his words was so palpable that Brett felt like he needed a drink, too. "I know you did. But maybe – "

"Don't tell me things happen for a reason. You always tell me things happen for a reason." Shane looked up at him, making no effort to hide his tears. "Don't fucking tell me that, because there's not a reason for this! I loved her! And I'm the one who fucking stood there and pulled her skirt down, because – because you could see her panties and Carol had so much dignity, Rev. She had so much fucking dignity and she just got left out there like that and...and it's there. It's just there. You try to close your eyes and you try to think about something else, but it's there and it's always gonna be there and...I need my fucking drink. Where the fuck is my drink?"

Brett wrapped what he hoped would be a comforting arm around his shoulder. "Charlie, get him his drink already. And get me one too while you're at it. Jack, neat. Make it two. I got some catching up to do."

"You're gonna drink? Really?" Shane almost smiled, but not quite. "I really am corrupting you."

"You've never let me drink alone. And Carol would've wanted it this way, right?"

"Yeah, she would have," Shane agreed, with a nod.

"I know you don't want me to be Rev tonight, and I know this is not gonna help, but...you've gotta get over thinking this is your fault. It wasn't your fault. This didn't have anything to do with you. I know it hurts right now – it hurts me too, believe me. But this isn't something you can blame yourself for. Carol would never want that. Carol would want us to sit here and drink and laugh about every stupid thing she ever did. Carol would want us to remember her the way she was, not the way she ended up." Brett leaned forward, to look his friend in the eye. "You gotta trust me on this, Shane. You can't torture yourself. I've done it for years and it doesn't pay off in the end."

Shane nodded. He seemed to be weighing that statement. "It's just fucked up is all. It's so fucked up. This was not supposed to happen!"

"I know. I know it wasn't. And I'm so sorry it did."

Chapter Six:

July 7, 1966; 3:25 a.m.

"IT'S POSITIVELY MOVING, isn't it?"

An unseasonable chill pierced the air as the words escaped her lips. She stood with her back to him, arms outstretched to the open water before her. She looked so beautiful, so free, so...alive. A few steps behind her, he only looked on, as this was something he'd witnessed a million times before. For her, it was the very first time – and it was nothing short of magical.

The last, fleeting glimpses of sun danced over the water, while her blue and white polka dot dress swayed gently in the breeze. She lifted a hand to stop her blonde hair from whipping about, and the giggle she let out resonated for miles. So carefree. She turned around to face him and smiled.

"It's time to go," she announced.

For a moment, he was puzzled by that statement. Go where? Back to shore? Home?

Before he could question, however, she took a deep breath in and pivoted back toward the water. His heart sped up, and in an instant, he knew precisely what she was about to do.

"No!" he cried out. He wanted to leap forward, to grab her. To hold her in his arms and keep her safe...but he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything but stare helplessly as she turned to face him one last time.

Her smile was gentle, her expression pleasant. "I'm already dying."

And then she was gone. It wasn't a dramatic or purposeful jump, as far as he could tell. It was more as though she just casually stepped backwards off the boat...and he couldn't do anything to stop her.

Frozen in shock and terror, he studied her face carefully as she fell, searching for any clues as to why...but suddenly, it wasn't her face anymore. It was Carol Mathison's.

I'm already dying...

It was half past three when Evan awoke, sweating profusely and whispering Carol's name. He surveyed the darkness in the bedroom, breathing heavily. Since that awful night almost eleven years ago, he'd been reliving the event in his dreams at least once or twice a month. This time, however, shook him to his very core.

Carol Rogers Mathison. You know, when you thought about it, she was not that much different from Francine. Both were beautiful, idealistic people, loved by the community and poised for greatness they would never get a chance to realize. The only difference was, Carol had her future cruelly snatched away, while Francine gladly surrendered hers, for reasons no one could understand.

But Evan tried to understand. He tried his best to wrap his mind around precisely why someone as vibrant, alive and cheerful as Francine would choose to end her life in such an abrupt, inconceivable way. The questions haunted him for years, long after most of Haven Park moved on with their lives. What could he have done? What could anyone have done? Did she confide in anyone the despair she had to be feeling?

Perhaps it was Francine's way of retaliating against some of the darker secrets he'd kept from her...perhaps she felt that the only way she could have the proper payback was to execute this sort of thing in front of him. She must have known he wouldn't be able to do much to stop her. Knowing Francine the way he knew her, she probably planned the whole thing, right down to the very second.

She insisted on taking a sweater with her that day, despite the fact temperatures were not expected to be chilly...and the sweater was the very thing that weighed her down. When drenched, the wool acted as an anvil, giving her very little hope of survival in the off chance she did change her mind.

Even now, eleven years later, Evan couldn't think of it without tearing up. Francine's uncharacteristic act of selfish, reckless behavior had scarred him in ways he'd never even thought possible. But the craziest part of all was, he still loved her. He tried to resent her for what she put him through. The shame, the questions, the anguish...but he couldn't.

More than anything, he wished he could go back to that night and to the days beforehand. He wished he could talk to her, listen to her and most importantly, he wished he could apologize to her. He wished he could have made her understand, but then, he couldn't even be sure she knew. That was the most troubling part about it. He liked blaming himself for the way things happened – it was the only option that made sense...but what if that wasn't what happened at all? What if it didn't even factor in and there was something much darker lurking beneath the surface? What if Francine was far more disturbed than he ever could have imagined?

With a sigh, Evan pulled the blanket over his head. This was not going to be another one of those nights. He couldn't do this to himself anymore, and he couldn't do it to Marnie. She had the patience of a saint, and he could not allow himself to put her through any more embarrassment than he already had. Living up to Francine's legacy was certainly a challenge – made more difficult by the fact Evan constantly compared the two. It was wrong, and he knew it made Marnie feel bad, but sometimes, it just came naturally. What he and Francine shared was so strong, so deeply rooted. It wasn't something you could just let go of overnight. And to her credit, Marnie handled it with a lot more class and patience than many other women would, which was precisely why Evan loved her so much...and why she could never, ever know.

July 7, 1966; 7:20 a.m.

AS HE STUMBLED into the kitchen, Lance rubbed his weary eyes. What a long night. Despite numerous attempts, he couldn't get the encounter with Lucas Brady out of his head. He also couldn't reconcile a way to talk to Terri about these things. Was there a way to approach it without another huge fight? Though she might have had good reason to believe otherwise, Lance really didn't want to fight with her anymore. He was too tired for that...and too hurt to jump headlong into another battle.

Thus, he didn't say a word to her, and only made a beeline for the coffee she'd been kind enough to prepare. For it to be this early, Terri was already up, dressed and fully made up. She also appeared to be in what could be considered a good mood, smiling at him as he approached. "Morning."

"Morning," he mumbled back.

"Are you going to come to the service today?"

"Yeah. I've got a meeting to go to about the new store in Cottage Cove, so I might be a little late, but I'll be there."

She nodded. "Good. Thank you."

Those were the last words spoken for about five minutes. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table with this morning's paper. She, meanwhile, busied herself rinsing off the dishes from the night before. This was about as close to domestic bliss as they got these days, and while it was hardly ideal, Lance still found himself enjoying the peace.

"Lance, we need to have a talk," she announced out of nowhere, pivoting back to face him.

Christ, not this morning!

He directed his response to the newspaper. "What, right now?"

She wiped her hands on the dishtowel and then placed it neatly next to the sink. "Yes. It's very important. Please."

Might as well get this over with. "Okay. What is it?"

"I'd like your full attention, please."

"All right, fine." Lance jerked upright and slapped the newspaper on the table. His cup rattled in its saucer, sloshing coffee everywhere. "Better?"

"If you're going to be so hateful, then I'd rather not talk to you at all." Terri turned back toward the sink.

"I'm not being hateful. I'm trying to give you what you want! And again, I guess that's just not good enough, is it?"

"This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. This is it exactly."

"What? It not being good enough?"

"No...it's about us, actually. It's about us fighting all the time. That's all we ever do, Lance. All the yelling and screaming is killing me."

"What, you think I enjoy this? You think I like being married to a total stranger? You think I like coming home to an empty house and a wife who would rather fuck around and get high than take care of me? You think I enjoy this?" He rose from the table, demanding, "Do you?"

"Well, you must, because it never changes, does it?" she shot back. "That must be just fine with you, because you never want to do anything about it! You're convinced that no matter what happens, we can get through it together, but being together is only making it worse!"

"Don't you start that shit again, okay? I already told you that is out of the question!"

"I know it's out of the question, and that's why I've been trying so hard to come up with an alternative!"

That got his attention. She'd never spoken of alternatives before...more often than not, when she threw her temper tantrums about how unhappy she was, it was just the opposite.

"Alternative?" he asked, consciously lowering his voice. "What do you mean?"

She turned around to face him. "I mean, if you want to fix this thing – and obviously, you do – then we have got to do more than just yell and scream at each other all the time. We have got to do something...else."

"And what are you suggesting?" He was definitely interested in the answer to this.

Terri hesitated for what felt like forever. "This is my last attempt to do things your way. Just so you know."

"More like your first attempt to do things my way," he corrected. "Because everything's always been your way around here, and you know it."

She held up a hand. "Lance, please. I've been thinking a lot about this and...well, like I said, this is not healthy. This is not healthy at all and all it's going to do is make us resent each other even more in the end."

It took all he had not to roll his eyes. "I don't resent you, Terri – but I'll tell you who I do resent, and that's the punk you're sleeping with!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Can we leave Lucas out of this, just for once?"

"Leave him out of this?" Lance erupted. "He's the third person in this marriage! I'm amazed you didn't consult with him on this, too! Or did you?"

"I don't know why I'm bothering!" Dramatically, she turned back toward the sink. "I don't know why I'm bothering, and I don't know why you are either. It's obvious our marriage is over, isn't it? It is to me!"

"I told you not to start that again!" he warned. "I mean it! I'm in no mood!"

"I am so tired of arguing with you!"

He threw up his hands. "For God's sake, I'm not arguing with you!"

"You're yelling at me! You won't let me talk! I'm telling you, I am trying to come up with a solution, but you won't listen! You just wanna scream at me some more, and that's all you ever do!"

"You wanna come up with a solution? Fine! But it better be a solution, and not some half-assed nonsense so you can try to feel better about what you're doing to me!"

"It's always what I'm doing to you, isn't it?" she scoffed, over her shoulder.

"If you wanna come up with a solution, Terri, be my guest. By all means. But make it fast, because I don't have time for bullshit this morning. Or any morning."

Lance took a step back and waited. Terri didn't say a word. He shook his head. Typical. He should have known she didn't have any "alternatives" – that would require caring, and she stopped doing that a long time ago. When it suited her, she liked to throw in his face that she was his wife and invoke any privileges associated with the title, but if the truth were known, he hadn't had a wife in months. His wife, the woman he pledged his life to five years ago, died the same day she met that bum...and he somehow coerced her to stick a needle in her arm. All that remained was a shell – an empty, screeching shell who thrived on making every moment of his life miserable.

"No alternatives, huh? Why am I not surprised?" he huffed, grabbing his coffee from the table. "I don't have time for this foolishness. I have a busy day and – "

She turned back around. "Would you be agreeable to counseling?"

His first instinct was to say yes – not just yes, but hell yes. This was, after all, some long-awaited initiative, and perhaps a sign that all was not lost. Yet...that would be far too easy, and Terri never made a damned thing easy. There had to be a catch to this.

"Counseling?" he repeated, coming closer. "What do you mean?"

She sighed, her exasperation apparent. "I mean counseling, Lance. Where we sit and try to talk about our problems and try to work through them."

"Yes, I understood that part!" he snapped. "I meant, how do you expect to go about this and if you say Brett, I swear to God – "

"What is so wrong with Brett?"

"I knew it! I knew it! No. Do you hear me? No. No way. I don't want that crackpot getting any more involved in my marriage than he already is! It's bad enough you have to run crying to him every single time you don't get your way, and then I have to deal with him preaching at me about how I'm supposed to honor my wife. No! We are not doing any more of that! No!"

"Lance. That crackpot is my brother. And I never run crying to him when I don't get my way!"

Slowly, he shook his head. "I knew it. I just fucking knew it! You've always got some trick up your sleeve, don't you? You've always got to figure out a way to make yourself out to be the victim!"

Much as he expected, she acted shocked. "Trick up my sleeve? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't act like you didn't have this planned all along! You two – you're conspiring against me, all the time! Do you really think I would agree to this? Do you think I would agree to sit there and tell all my problems to the one person who just so happens to automatically be on your side, no matter what? Do you think I'm that stupid?"

She placed her hands on her hips. "He is my brother, and I trust him more than anyone!"

"Oh is that right? So that's why you've yet to tell him about you sleeping around on me? That's why you've yet to tell him about that little drug habit of yours? That's why you've blamed every single problem we have on me, conveniently forgetting to mention anything that might denote some responsibility on your part?"

All she did was stare at him – that was all she ever did when he caught her red handed. "I said I didn't want to fight with you this morning!" she finally declared, her eyes filling with tears.

"And I said that I never wanted to have another thing to do with that lunatic brother of yours for as long as I live – we see how well you listened to me!"

"You know what? I knew you would do this, and I don't know why I bothered, Lance! This is all you ever do!"

Once again, she turned to face the sink. He'd lost count of how many times she'd done that, over the course of five minutes – but he putting an end to the performance. "And all you ever do is lie. You tell me you want to come up with alternatives, then you come up with this. You tell me you don't want to fight, then you do this on purpose to get me to react, probably so you'll have something to cry about later. This is all part of your little game, isn't it? Well, the game's over, sweetheart." Gripping his coffee cup, Lance turned around. "And you can forget about counseling with Brett."

"Then you can forget about me!"

He had every intention of leaving the room – after all, he was running late as it was – but her stubborn insistence on having the last word drew him back. "I told you not to start that again!"

She pivoted around to face him again, her tears long gone. "I'm not starting anything, Lance – I'm finishing it. I will pack my things and I will leave right now if that's what you want. But I don't think that's what you want, because you could never live with the humiliation of a messy divorce. You couldn't live with the entire town knowing what's going on between us. You could not live with Haven Park whispering about how their favorite furniture salesman finally failed at something!"

Her eyes gleamed with pleasure, and it made him seethe. Enraged, he threw his coffee cup at the wall. It shattered into pieces and fell, contents and all, onto the freshly mopped floor. It was not the only thing he wanted to break. "You know how to get to me! And you do it on purpose!"

Terri said nothing, but her look of defiance was long gone. With several deep breaths, Lance attempted to calm himself down. He couldn't believe she would hold something like this over his head, especially given how determined he was to save their marriage. She knew he would do anything to try and make things right again – even concede to the stupidest suggestion in the world.

"Do you want counseling with Brett?" he whispered. "Answer me. Is that what you really want?"

She nodded yes, her eyes locked in the direction of the mess he'd just made.

The deep breaths were not helping his blood pressure at all, but he made every effort not to raise his voice as he came closer. "Of course you do. Well, fine. I'll play along. I'll let you two gang up on me and tell me what a terrible person I am, but Terri, you have to promise me something. This is a big concession, and if I do this, you have to – look at me, damn it! If I do this, you have to promise me that you will not make a huge public spectacle of this, okay? I can't have that. I won't have that. Do I make myself clear? Look at me!"

She did, for just a moment, and then she looked away. Her reply was a simple yes.

"Good," Lance said, on his way to the stairs. "Now clean up that damned mess."

July 7, 1966; 10:05 a.m.

JEFF SCOWLED AT his reflection in the mirror. The past few days had been horrendous, and he didn't want to imagine how much worse this one was going to be. He wasn't even sure if he should go at all, but he knew the talk that would circulate if he didn't. Shane, especially, would be sure to presume his lack of attendance implied guilt.

Shane was the last person he wanted to see, today or ever. It was difficult to even live in the same town as him, knowing that every single breath was being carefully scrutinized. Still, there were no feasible ways to avoid him. And, Jeff resolved, as he straightened his tie, he wouldn't avoid him. He would walk right up to him. He'd look him in the eye, he'd shake his hand and he'd thank him for coming. A reaction was what the drunken bastard wanted – and it was the last thing he was going to get.

A timid knock came on the door at a little after ten, and his first instinct was to ignore it. He'd had quite enough of the parade of crazy neighbors, but he knew he couldn't hide from his adoring public forever. He had nothing to hide from – not Shane's accusations, not the prying eyes of Haven Park, nothing. It was time he started acting like it.

After taking a moment to gather what remained of his confidence, Jeff squared his shoulders, took in a deep breath and opened the door. Julia Woodward was standing there.

"We need to talk," she announced.

Chapter Seven, Part One:

July 7, 1966; 10:30 a.m.

HAVEN PARK HAD come out in droves for Carol Mathison's service. As he mingled with them, Brett couldn't help but marvel. He hadn't seen some of these people in ages, and he couldn't remember the last time the modest sanctuary was this full. Ironic that this sort of circumstance served as tragic catalyst to bring them back to church...but at least they were back.

There was a minor controversy a few years back, when Brett took over as pastor. Well, maybe controversy was the wrong word, but a few of the church elders didn't necessarily agree with the choice, and rather than make a big fuss about it, they just stopped coming. Seemed the universal complaint was the church was becoming too youth-oriented; too modern for their tastes. The music being incorporated might have actually sounded melodic. The sermons might have done more than preach fire and brimstone. The pastor might have been under the age of sixty.

That one was especially upsetting to the aged congregation of First Baptist, and to a degree, Brett could understand their reservations. A lot of them had known him from the time he was a mere bulge in his mother's belly, and the idea of him all grown up and leading the church was a bit...unsettling. The kindest way to phrase it was, they didn't understand his informal approach. At all.

Brett was the first to admit that he wasn't your typical preacher. He found the pulpit cumbersome, and he'd never enjoyed standing behind it. It was so distant, so detached. It was impossible to be personal with someone he couldn't see, and more pressing than that, it gave off the impression he was talking at them, rather than to them. He couldn't stand that. Thus, one of the first changes he made was to do away with it.

Of course, it didn't actually go anywhere. It was still there, right where Andrew had left it, but these days, it was adorned with flowers – a design Jules painstakingly fashioned and maintained. The pulpit served more of a decorative purpose than anything else, and that pissed a lot of people off.

Brett couldn't believe their attachment to a piece of wood. From the way some of them acted, you would think he'd taken it out back and set it on fire or something. They were aghast, calling it both disrespectful and tacky. "Disrespectful" was up for debate – how could one possibly show disrespect to an inanimate object? But tacky? Well...okay, they had a point there, but it was what Jules wanted to do, and life was always a whole lot easier when he got out of the way and let Jules do what she wanted to do.

Pulpit aside, there were several other complaints voiced over the years, both to his face and otherwise. For a while, it seemed like everything he did was cause for alarm, no matter how small or insignificant it might've been. There were meetings twice a month, without fail, for the whole first year. You've gotta stop smoking on the property. You've gotta stop telling people that faith is a personal choice and they have to find the path that works for them. You've gotta stop socializing with sinners. You've gotta stop being so scared to tell people they're going to Hell. You've gotta get more people in the church. You've gotta get more money coming in. You've gotta start being more serious about this!

It went on and on, to the point Brett stopped listening. It made no difference to argue with them – to tell them Jesus socialized with sinners, never threatened anyone with Hell and couldn't have cared less how much money was garnered every Sunday. They didn't care what Jesus would've done, and that was the saddest thing about it. These people were far more like Pharisees than Christians; grandstanding holier-than-thou hypocrites who loved to talk about their "obligation" to scream and intimidate every non-believer into faith. They blamed his quirks on inexperience. They blamed them on pie-eyed optimism and not wanting to offend anyone with the gospel. They blamed them on his prior role as children's pastor, and insinuated he should've stuck with that.

The bottom line was, in three years, Brett had alienated far more people than he'd helped. Attendance had dwindled by at least fifty percent and the offering was never up to par with anyone's expectations. Still, until they shoved him out the door, he didn't plan on going anywhere.

The money wasn't great, the environment was toxic more often than not, but the potential was exceptional. There was so much difference that could be made here, and that was why he still showed up every day...though he was only getting paid to be there a couple of days a week. They needed him – more importantly, they needed Christ, and it was up to Brett to bring Him to Haven Park. Even if it meant sacrificing money, time and dignity to do so.

The defectors had returned with a vengeance this morning, and to their credit, most of them were civil when they arrived. Not that he had necessarily expected them to use a funeral as yet another opportunity to antagonize and judge him, but he'd been prepared for an onslaught of silent disapproval...especially considering his less-than-stellar appearance. He probably could have taken the time to shave, at least, but the fact he'd bothered to shower was a minor miracle. He didn't wake up until 8:45, and that was only because Jules forced him to. She kept emphasizing how late he was – which made it all the more ironic that she wasn't even here yet.

"Well, I'll be damned! Look at all these people!"

Elton Frazier, Haven Park's police chief and one of Brett's harshest critics, moved toward him, a hand outstretched. The man could always be counted on to state the obvious, at a volume that was impossible to ignore. Today, however, his usual scowl was replaced by what almost looked like a smile. "Brett! How the hell are you? I haven't seen you in a long time!"

His wife, Jackie, echoed the sentiment, albeit in a much softer manner. "How have you and Julia been? It's just been forever."

"We're good – great. And how are you?"

Vigorously, the police chief shook Brett's hand. "Doing good, all things considered! The kids are doing great, too. Phil is sixteen now and Pat – how old is Pat, Jackie?"

"He's twelve," she supplied. "He'll be thirteen next month."

"They're getting big, that's for damned sure. Phil is even taller than I am, but I keep telling him not to let that go to his head! His old man is always gonna be one step ahead of him!" With a chuckle that could've been heard around the block, Frazier leaned toward Brett and gave him a good-natured punch to the arm. "So when are you two gonna move into the baby making business, huh? Been long enough, don't you think? Six years? Seven? What are you two waiting on?"

Ah, what would an encounter with Elton Frazier be without a line of uncomfortable questions? For some reason, the fact he and Julia had yet to reproduce particularly disturbed Frazier, though he could hardly claim to be a shining example of fatherhood himself. For God's sake, he didn't even know how old his younger son was.

Brett offered the same answer he always did. "That one's not up to me. We're just letting nature take its course. Whenever God decides it's time, it's time."

"Sometimes you gotta help Him out a bit, right?" Frazier laughed. "Believe me, if I was as young as you, and Jackie was as young as Julia, I'd be helping Him out a lot!"

"Elton!" Clearly embarrassed, Jackie Frazier lifted a hand to her face. "I'm very sorry. That was so crass. I'm sorry."

"It's not crass, it's the truth! Two young, good-looking kids like them – what the hell else do you think they should do with their time, talk about the weather?"

Right now would've been a great time for someone to interrupt, but of course, no one did. Everyone around them seemed lost in their own strange mix of grief and socialization, which left Brett to own devices. "Uh, you know what? Julia really should've been here by now, so let me just go see if I can track her down and find out what the hold up is. Excuse me for just a moment."

Behind him, he could hear Jackie chastise her husband for such awkward innuendo, and he could hear Frazier loudly defend himself, because "men are men – no matter how holy they are."

Marnie gave him a sympathetic look as he approached. It was clear she'd overheard that whole exchange – and the odds were, other mourners had too. Brett sighed, attempting to salvage what was left of his dignity. "Jules isn't here, right?"

"No she's not, and everyone keeps asking about her. I hope she isn't much longer."

"Yeah, so do I. I'm gonna call her and see if she's even left the house yet. She was trying on dresses when I left and that was," he consulted his watch, "at least an hour ago."
Marnie frowned. "Well, maybe she's having difficulty picking out something...suitable."

He fished his keys from his pocket as he moved toward the office. "Yeah, let's hope."

July 7, 1966; 10:40 a.m.

"MARGARET! DARLING, COME here! You just look beautiful!" Mayor Clayton Pierce, escorted by his wife Elaine, enveloped Marnie into a tight embrace before she had a chance to protest. He was an older man, considered charming by many, and an unrelenting flirt by a select few.

Marnie did her best to maneuver away from him. "Mayor Pierce, Mrs. Pierce, wonderful to see you today. Thank you very much for coming. Would you like a program?"

"Yes, please." Mrs. Elaine Pierce, seemingly oblivious to the fact her husband was leering at Marnie right in front of her, smiled as she took it. Her smile soon faded, however, as she looked down at Carol's photograph on the front. "Such a lovely young woman," she lamented. "Such a tragedy."

"Yes, dear, it certainly was," Mayor Pierce agreed, reaching out to Marnie once more. "How have you been, Margaret? Where's Evan? Is he coming today?"

Marnie backed away from his touch. Her mother kept swearing that "good old Clay" was harmless, but his unwanted advances, however subtle, were what drove her out of City Hall in the first place. Something about him had always made her uncomfortable, and today was no exception. "No, unfortunately, he had to work."

"Well, that's a shame." Mayor Pierce hardly seemed disappointed, allowing his eyes to travel from her face to somewhere below her neck, then reluctantly back again. "He'll be so sorry he missed it."

"Yes," Marnie agreed, face red, "I'm sure."

Elaine Pierce, still relatively oblivious, waved to a friend seated in the sanctuary. "Clara! Hello, dear! How are you doing?" she asked, as the two women met in the foyer, only feet away.

Mayor Pierce leaned down in that moment, to whisper in Marnie's ear. "Your job's still open, you know. You were the heart and soul of City Hall, and any time you get tired of this place and you want to come back, you let me know."

"Mayor Pierce, I don't think..." Marnie attempted to argue, but he put a finger to her lips.

"Don't argue. Just think about it." With that, he winked at her, and went to join his wife.

Marnie felt as though she needed a shower, but she didn't have time to dwell on it, as the next person to walk in was Julia...and she looked terrible. For someone who took such pride in her appearance, and criticized those who walked into the church looking anything but immaculate, it was quite a surprise. Her hair was a mess, her makeup looked as though she'd applied it in the dark and her dress was all wrinkled. Marnie couldn't mask her concern. "Oh Julia, are you all right?"

"What? Of course. Of course I am. I just got delayed is all. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I meant to be here sooner, but...I just lost all track of time."

"It's fine. Everything's fine. You're here now, and that's what matters." Marnie handed over a stack of programs. "Take these. You haven't missed much – only Mr. Frazier ranting about how you need to start popping out babies already."

Marnie expected that to amuse Julia. Instead, it seemed to horrify her. "He said that? Here? In front of people?"

"Yes. And it's not the first time, remember? He's always going on about that sort of thing. I felt so bad for Brett, though, because you could tell how uncomfortable the whole thing made him – he's looking for you, by the way. He just went to call you a few minutes ago, if you want to let him know you're here."

Julia's reply was instant, as she fanned herself with the programs. "No, that's fine. We'll catch up eventually, and I'm sure he's got so much to – "

Before she could finish her sentence, the next mourner arrived: none other than Marnie's mother. She was wearing a full-length mink coat – in the middle of July – and it was clear she'd had her hair done for the occasion. "Good morning, ladies!" she greeted pleasantly, though Marnie noticed her sizing up Julia's strange appearance.

"Good morning, Mother."

"Mrs. Adams, you look wonderful," Julia said stiffly.

Marnie shot her mother a hard look. If she knew the woman at all, she'd come right back with, I wish I could say the same for you, dear.

"Well..." Mother said, a smile plastered on her face. "Thank you. So do you, as always, but I think...you've got a little smudge." She reached forward. "Just there. Oh, and there's another one."

"Thank you," Julia drawled. "I put on my makeup in such a hurry this morning! I guess I made a mess of it. I should...go fix that."

"Yes," Mother agreed, with a nod. "You certainly should. I can handle everything. You just go take care of yourself, darling."

With that, Mother practically ripped the programs from Julia's hand and shoved her in the direction of the ladies room. Leaning close to Marnie, she whispered, "She stinks."

"Mother, that's not nice."

"Well, she does. It's obvious what those two were doing last night."

"Mother!"

"I'm only saying...and really, whatever they do in the privacy of their own home is not my business, but she could at least have the decency to take a shower before she walks into the house of the Lord." Much as Julia had, Mother took to fanning herself with the programs. "Very warm today, isn't it?"

"Yes it is."

Mother turned toward her. She was smiling. "How are you, dear? You look exquisite, you know! I'm so proud of how beautiful you are, all the time."

Surely, Mother intended to add, unlike Julia. Marnie nodded. "Well, thank you, but I can't take much credit for that."

"You did get it from me, I know, but you've come into it so well. How is Evan doing? Is he going to be joining us today?"

"No, actually, he's working, but I know he'll be so sorry he missed it."

"Are you kidding?" Mother laughed. "Of course he won't. You know how much a crowd like this intimidates him! Know what this reminds me of, speaking of that?"

Marnie did her best to sound interested. "What's that, Mother?"

"Well, I haven't seen all of these people in one place since...well, since Francine's funeral! Not even your father's service got such a turnout, which I could've been offended by, but you know. Francine was incredibly beloved in the community and so was Carol, obviously. And you want to know something sad, Margaret?"

No, she really didn't, but she still nodded. "Sure."

"Poor little Carol was front row center during Francine's service! Do you remember that?"

"No...I don't, really. I think I might have been in school that day."

"No you weren't!" Mother argued. "You were there. I know you were. And poor Carol sat in the very front row and cried her little eyes out! It was the saddest thing I'd ever seen. Poor thing was just inconsolable!"

Marnie had to admit that one took her by surprise. "I never knew Carol was that close to Francine."

"Oh, of course she was! Everyone loved Francine! But Carol..." Mother sighed. "Carol looked on her as sort of the big sister she never had, I think. They were very, very close. She would even help Francine cook dinner for Evan a couple of nights a week! Can you believe that? How funny!"

Marnie did not think it was very funny at all, which would explain why she shifted all of her attention on the next person to walk in, Shane.

If she thought that Julia looked bad, he looked ten times worse. The weight of the past few days was written all over him as he nodded in her direction. "Morning Marnie. Mrs. Adams."

"Good morning, Shane!" Mother greeted, handing over a program. "Oh, you poor thing, you look awful! How've you been? Please know that you have my very deepest sympathies. I know how close you were to Carol."

Shane hardly seemed in the mood for her brand of comfort, only scanning the sanctuary and then moving in the direction of the office. "Is he in there?"

"Brett?" Marnie asked. "Yes, he is."

"Great. Thanks."

"Well, someone's hung over," Mother mumbled, as soon as Shane had disappeared into the office. "Poor boy. He's going to kill himself if he keeps this up."

Rather than speculate on the personal life of someone clearly mired in grief, Marnie opted to change the subject. "Mother, you'll never guess who is here. Mrs. Weathers!"

Thankfully, the diversion tactic worked. "Clara? Well, I haven't seen her in ages! How is she?"

"She seems to be doing well. You should go talk to her. She's sitting with her son."

"Will you be okay for a moment if I do?"

"What? Of course I will."

"Well, darling, I know you don't enjoy entertaining as much as I do."

"I'll be just fine," Marnie assured. "Go catch up with her."

Mother did not need to be asked twice. Marnie hoped she'd find several other long lost friends to chat with while she was at it. It was just like Mother to invite herself to participate in something like this – making a huge production of how wonderful she was to give back to the community and whispering about everyone behind their backs the whole time. Daddy must've had the patience of a saint to put up with her. Marnie's limit was about ten minutes, or twelve veiled insults, whichever came first.

Evan wasn't the only one intimidated by such a large crowd, Marnie realized, as she got a look at the packed house. She didn't remember the last time she'd seen half of those people, especially in this setting, and it only served to remind her of Mother's words. Francine's funeral, by all accounts, was a grand affair – one rife with music, heartfelt tributes and melodrama. If she had, as Mother insisted, been in attendance, she was glad she remembered nothing of it. The legend was, Evan was so shaken he had to be helped to the podium, and that was an image she didn't want stuck in her mind.

He tried to be so strong, all of the time...it had to be excruciating, knowing what a guarded person he was, to break down so openly. She couldn't begin to imagine his pain in the wake of such a tragic loss, nor could she comprehend how profoundly that loss still affected him to this day.

Grief was such a terrible thing, and its grip was far more encompassing than anyone realized until they experienced it themselves. She could only hope that Carol's loved ones would be spared from the worst of it – from the depths of despair that still haunted Evan eleven years later. That was no way to live, none at all.

For the next several minutes, the mourners trickled in and Marnie considered the fragility of life. No one would have thought a week ago that they would be here at Carol's funeral – least of all Carol. Life was such a fleeting thing. It was so sad how it could be ripped away, without any warning whatsoever. Sad for the deceased, and sadder still for those left behind.

Jeff looked almost as bad as Shane when he arrived, but true to form, he did his best to smile. "Hey. Good morning."

Marnie wrapped both arms around him on pure instinct. "How are you?" she whispered into his ear, though she knew she'd never get a straight answer.

"Uh...I've seen some better days, but I'm making it. I guess that's all I can do."

She pulled out of the embrace to gauge the truth of that statement. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Yeah," he replied, with a nod. "I am too."

Marnie bit her lip as she debated what to say next. He looked sad, no question about it, but there was something a lot deeper in his eyes. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she wished she could ease his pain. "Is there anything that I can do? Anything at all?"

For a long time, he hesitated. "No. There's not a whole lot that anybody can do, I guess. It's just one day at a time, one foot in front of the other and all of that other bullshit people say at a time – "

He never got the chance to finish his sentence, as the office door abruptly cut him off. Brett, followed closely by Shane, emerged into the foyer and Jeff took a step back, shifting his gaze downward. It was almost as though he could sense what was coming.

It looked like Brett could too, as he extended out an arm, in a vain attempt to keep Shane from attacking. Helplessly, Marnie watched as Shane moved forward, pushing Brett out of the way and lunging straight for Jeff. He looked angry enough to kill. "You son of a bitch!"

Chapter Seven, Part Two:

July 7, 1966; 10:50 a.m.

EVERY CONVERSATION TAKING place in the sanctuary came to an abrupt, grinding halt. You could've heard a pin drop in the church foyer as Jeff wiggled free from Shane's fierce grip, dusting off his jacket. "If you ever touch me again..." he began.

Shane took a step closer. "You have got your nerve showing up here! What the hell do you think you're doing? Don't you know people are suffering enough without you showing up to basically laugh in their faces? I oughtta..."

Jeff's eyes darted around the foyer, then to the sanctuary. He could see Stan and Mona standing there, and he could see his boys right beside them. This was the last thing he wanted to do today, especially in front of them, but enough was enough already. The rage that bubbled over at that moment was indescribable. The next thing he knew, he had Shane backed up against the door of the church office, much to the horror of everyone who'd crowded around to enjoy the show.

Jeff's mind raced, acutely aware that everyone was watching...and that anything he said or did could become fodder for later. There was so much he wanted to say to Shane – to all these fucking hypocrites. Yet, the only way he found to accurately display his disgust was to spit right in Shane's face, an action that immediately got Brett involved.

Grabbing Shane's arm from behind, he locked eyes with Jeff. "Settle down."

As he stood there struggling to catch his breath, Jeff found himself wishing that Brett would just let go of the bastard. He almost wanted Shane to hit him – because, if nothing else, it would prove to everyone watching that he was the damned fool here.

"Settle down," Brett advised again. "Everybody just settle down, okay?"

Shane broke free and lunged at Jeff again. "You're nothing but a murderer, and you don't belong here! You have no place here and...and I oughtta just do to you what you did to Carol and do this whole damned town a favor! You – you're – you son of a bitch, I'm gonna kill you!"

From the corner of his eye, Jeff noticed Julia emerging from the restroom, and she looked horrified. So did Marnie, for that matter. Brett, however, looked more peeved than anything else. He jerked Shane out of Jeff's face with a ferocity nobody expected. "Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not here, okay? Not here. Just settle down."

Shane finally took his intense glare off of Jeff. "Settle down? You want me to settle down? This motherfucker killed her, then he's got the balls to show up at her funeral, and you want me to settle down?"

"I didn't kill anybody!" Jeff yelled. It felt good to say it. Good enough that he repeated it three times more. "Do you hear me, Shane? I didn't kill anybody! Not Carol, not anybody!"

"You get the hell out of here!" Shane demanded, jerking free from Brett's grip to point an angry finger in Jeff's face. "Get out of here right now, or I swear to God..."

Jeff's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the pathetic, shaking excuse for a cop before him. Again, so many things were racing through his mind...but none of them were really worth saying, anyway. All he did was shake his head. "All right, I'm going. But let me tell you something, tough guy – you didn't throw me out of here. You can't throw me out of here, do you understand me? I am leaving because I want to leave!"

"You're leaving because you're guilty!" Shane sneered.

"That's enough," Brett interrupted, stepping between them. "That is enough. Not here, okay? Not here."

There were a few things Jeff would've liked to have said to that guy, too, none of which would've been very pleasant, but instead, he only backed toward the door. As if to indicate his dubious surrender, he lifted both hands. "Go fuck yourself, Shane – because obviously, you never got your chance with Carol."

Jeff knew quite well that would piss the guy off, and that was the precise reason he said it. However, he wasn't anticipating the rage with which Shane would stalk toward him, nor the fact that he would practically mow Brett down on his way. "You're not even worth the bullet it would take to kill you, you know that? You're worth nothing! You are worth nothing, and you never, ever deserved her! I know what you did, and I will kill you before I let you do it again! I'll kill you right now, you son of a bitch! I will kill you where you stand!"

Silence. Utter silence. The next person to move was Marnie, who came out of nowhere and wedged herself in the middle of their stare down. "Back off," she warned, in Shane's direction. "He's leaving, so back off!"

Before Shane could say anything more, Brett grabbed him again, and Jeff used the opportunity to slip out the door. Much as he expected, Marnie was close behind. Hands shaking, he fumbled for the keys in his pocket, all the while willing himself not to break down.

"Did you hear what he said to me? He's gonna kill me. He just said he was gonna kill me. And people think I'm crazy! People think I'm running around here killing people and he's in there saying he's gonna kill me and – goddamn, that motherfucker! He just threw me out of my fiancée's funeral and I left. I actually left, Marnie, my God!"

She reached out to him, her expression wrought with excruciating concern. "That was ridiculous! I don't know where he gets off, but – "

"My kids saw that. My fucking kids saw that. Oh my God." He leaned down over the car and shook his head. "You know, I should have known. I really should have known."

Marnie squared her shoulders. "Well, you know what I think? I think you should go right back in there and do a whole lot more than spit in his face!"

"No. Don't do that."

Julia's voice from behind appeared to startle Marnie, but Jeff had expected that too. Given the look on her face, she'd come to tell him everything was going to be okay and he needed to hold his head up, because he mattered. It was the same speech she gave everyone, and while it certainly had its place, he couldn't in good conscience indulge it right now.

"Don't worry, Julia. I'm not. I just wanna get the hell out of here, before...before..."

"Don't do that either." Julia came closer. "You have just as much right to be here as anyone else, and you know it. Don't let something like that drive you away."

"What's the point?"

"The point is you loved her," Marnie informed. "You loved her enough to put up with her, and that says something!"

He doubted it was intentional, but her words only served to usher Julia back inside, with nary a parting word. So much for moral support.

He opened the door of the car. "I gotta get the fuck out of here."

"No you don't!" Marnie argued. "No you don't. Listen to me. That was horrible and uncalled for and Julia was right. You have every right to be here! And I'll tell Shane that! I don't care what people think! You can't leave. Please don't leave. Not like this. You deserve – "

"Let's not go into what I deserve, because it's a whole lot worse than that, okay?" As he slid behind the wheel, Jeff buried his face in his hands.

Marnie knelt down in the gravel next to him, ripping her stockings in the process. It seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind, as she extended a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Okay, fine, then. If you're leaving, I'm leaving too. We can both leave, and we can talk and..." She sighed. "I can't promise you it's going to be okay, but I can listen. And I can care. And I can love you. And...I do love you, Jeff. I love you very much."

Much like a few days ago, he found it impossible to even look at her. She was just too sincere, and there was no way he could allow himself to impose upon that. Contrary to what everyone seemed to believe, that was not something he enjoyed. "I'm gonna be fine, okay? I'm gonna be fine. I just...I need to think, okay?"

"Please don't leave like this. Please."

Without another word, he shut the door and started the car, leaving her to kneel there. It was an abrupt exit, and one he knew he'd eventually regret, but the most obvious choice at the time. He just had to get out of here. Before everything got worse.

July 7, 1966; 10:55 a.m.

AFTER TAKING A moment to collect himself (and clean himself up), Shane emerged from the restroom to find Stan standing there, arms crossed. It was a stance Shane had seen a few times before, and it was never very pleasant. "Stan, listen," he began.

"What the hell was that?" Stanley interrupted. "What the hell were you doing? That was insane!"

"That was – "

"How could you embarrass me like that? How could you embarrass us like that? What the hell were you thinking, boy?"

Shane immediately knew without being told that by "us", Stan did not mean himself and Mona. He meant the force as a whole – and, of course, he probably had embarrassed them. But at that point, all logic and reason completely went out of his mind. There was no other way to explain it. It was a primal reaction, one he probably shouldn't have acted upon, but one he honestly didn't regret.

"He has no right being here," Shane maintained.

"And who are you to decide that?"

Shane took a step back, shocked he'd say such a thing. "That son of a bitch killed your daughter – "

"Shut up!" Stanley roared, pointing back at him. "Just shut the hell up! You don't know who killed my daughter any more than I do!"

"You can't honestly believe he's innocent, can you? Stan, my God! Don't you get it? Don't you see?"

"All I know is my daughter..." Stanley paused for a very long time, the emotion visible behind his eyes. "My daughter is dead," he continued, voice shaking. "And all you've done so far is make a fool of yourself and chase after Jeff. That's unacceptable, and you know better and I can't believe you'd do something this damned stupid. I just..."

Shane took in a deep breath as he watched Stan pace back in the other direction. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just can't stand to see him running around, knowing what he did to her. And I know what he did to her, Stan. I may not be able to prove it right now, but I know."

"Every single night this week," Stanley began, his back to him, "I've sat up, wondering what the hell I could've done. How come I wasn't there. What she must've been going through. If she...was calling out for me. And every single night, I've had to watch my wife go through the same thing. I've had to watch my grandchildren try to figure out why they don't have a mother anymore."

"I'm sorry."

"I've had to try and keep a brave face around everyone, because I have to hold it together, being who I am. And then, the one day I think I might actually be able to find a little closure and a little peace, you come along and you fuck it all up, over some stupid vendetta. You've hated Jeff from day one, Shane, and we both know it. This has nothing to do with Carol's death. This has everything to do with the fact she chose him instead of you. Admit it."

"That's not true," Shane swore slowly.

"Bullshit! Of course it's true! You just ruined my daughter's funeral and you just kept someone who obviously loved her and loved those kids from being here and...I can't do this right now."

"Stan, I'm sorry! My God, I would never hurt you or Mona or the kids for the world. I just..." His shoulders slumped, and he sighed deeply. "I'm sorry."

Stanley acted as though he hadn't heard him at all, only returning to his grief-stricken wife's side. Shane turned to glance at Marnie, who'd just reentered the foyer, her eyes burning fire. However, before she could say anything, Mayor Pierce approached. He didn't look very happy either, though he did his best to smile, most likely for the sake of his image. "Shane, can I have a word with you, son? In private?"

July 7, 1966; 11:15 a.m.

WITH THE CROWD effectively calmed down and Julia's tardiness somewhat explained (something about having to pick something up for the wake), Brett mentally prepared himself for what he had to do. Giving eulogies was never something he looked forward to, for the sheer impossibility of it all. Summing up a person's life in a five-to-ten minute speech was a tall order, especially when that person had touched so many lives.

After nursing Shane through his grief and stumbling back home, he labored over what to say this morning, before finally scrapping the idea of a script altogether and opting to speak spontaneously. It was the only thing he could do – and something Carol no doubt would've approved of.

"Good morning, Haven Park," he greeted, as he often did at the start of a service. "You know, I've gotta be honest. I don't know what to say. I stayed up almost all night and I wrote this really elaborate speech, with all these scriptures, and it was all very Biblical and very serious and I was really proud of it. I felt like Shakespeare. And then...I woke up this morning and I read it and I asked myself what Carol would say about something like that – no doubt, there would've been a lot of profanity involved."

From the first row, Stan laughed uproariously at that, which was a positive sign. "So," Brett continued, "I thought maybe it would be better to just say what's on my heart about this and hope I don't make too much of a fool of myself in the process. You know, a lot of times – and this was actually something I discussed with Carol – somebody in my position is expected to have the answers. And you know what? I don't. It took me thirty years to admit that, but I don't. I don't understand this, you guys. I don't know why things have to happen the way they do. I don't understand why people have to go before you're ready to tell them goodbye. But you know what I do understand? I understand that God is good. He had a purpose for this, just like He's got a purpose for you and you and you and yeah – even you in the back. I can see you back there, you know."

Consciously, he put down the Bible he'd been holding. "I'm not going to come at you with an arsenal of scripture, because it's not going to change anything. There's not a single scripture that's going to bring Carol back. There's not any particular verse that's going to make all of this make sense. Life doesn't make sense sometimes, but you know what? It doesn't have to. I've finally made my peace with that one. It doesn't have to make sense all the time for me to trust that God is still in control. Remember this, friends – when all is good and when all is gone, God is still there, holding everything together with His strong and mighty right hand. That is one thing we can all take comfort in. Everything changes in this life, but that doesn't, and it won't. The thing I most want to tell you today is no matter how much this hurts, there is a life on the other side of it. There is a future and there is a hope and His name is Jesus Christ. That is the only peace you're going to find right now, I'm telling you. But...I promised myself and I promised Carol I wasn't gonna preach at you this morning."

It was true, he did. That was the last thing Carol would want. She would want people talking about her – after all, that was always her favorite subject. "So Carol. Wow. What can I tell you about Carol? Well, I knew her for a long, long time. There's very little I can say about her that would even come close to telling you who she really was. If you knew her, you just knew her. She had this essence about her that not very many people have. She had this...this fierce tenacity. What she wanted, she got – no matter what was in her way. She found love, she lost love and then she found it again. She could've let life's little pitfalls get her down, but she kept going. She was a mother, a daughter, a friend...someone who exemplified courage, in the face of some really amazing odds. And just speaking from my own personal experience, when she had something to say, boy, did she say it – no matter how much it might've hurt your feelings!"

Brett surveyed the crowd, focusing on the people who knew Carol best. "It was about four years ago that I stood up here for the first time, scared out of my mind. I'd been preaching to eight-year olds before that – and little did I know, that was a much easier job," he laughed. "And so Andrew called me and he said he had to go to Idaho for some reason and he asked me if I would give the message. Me! Of all people. And I had no idea what to say, you guys. I was so nervous that my knees were shaking and I somehow got through the whole thing and you know what I did? I was pretty stupid, I have to tell you. I made the mistake of asking Carol what she thought. Yes. Yes I did. I was hoping, you know, that she would be like, 'That was amazing and profound and it changed my life!' Well...you know what Carol told me? Jules, you remember this, don't you? Peaches, I know you remember this, too. She looked at me, she kind of laughed and she said, 'You talked way too long, your jacket's two sizes too big for you, you looked like a lost little boy up there, and you mispronounced the name of that prophet. But other than that, I guess you did okay.' And that, friends – that was Carol. You know, life is a learning experience. We learn from our pasts, we learn from our mistakes, we learn from each other. And I'd like to think we all learned something from Carol Rogers Mathison. I know that I, at the very least, learned never to ask her something if I wasn't really prepared for her answer!"

With that, he moved forward, stopping directly in front of Stan and Mona. "Your daughter was someone we will never, ever forget. Thank you for sharing her with us, and may the peace of Christ envelop you in this very difficult time."

Mona seemed genuinely touched by his statement. "Thank you," she whispered. "That was beautiful. Thank you. You were always such a good friend to her."

"Nowhere near as good as she was to me," Brett whispered back. "I'm so, so sorry."

July 7, 1966; 11:30 a.m.

IN A FASHION Carol would've no doubt approved of, the morning was all about her. Memories were shared from friends, coworkers, those who knew Carol for years and those who only knew her in passing – but they all basically said the same thing: Carol's presence was one that would be sorely missed in Haven Park for years to come.

Knowing her turn to speak would be coming shortly, Terri wondered what she could possibly say. So far, everyone had done a wonderful job of celebrating Carol's life...what more could she say about her best friend, without falling apart in the process? Terri labored long and hard over how to memorialize someone so unforgettable, and as she took center stage, she made sure to bring her three-page eulogy with her, though she'd memorized a large majority of it already.

As she approached, Brett reached out to hug her, whispering into her ear, "Are you gonna be able to get through this, Peaches?"

It was a question Terri didn't quite have an answer for. She didn't know. She realized that in comparison to some (particularly, Carol's immediate family), her loss was relatively minor, but it was still a huge, gaping hole...something she didn't know if she was ready to discuss publicly just yet. Still, she owed this much to Carol, if only to say thank you for all those times she forgot to adequately express her appreciation.

"Good morning, everyone," she greeted. "It's nice to see you all. I just wish it could have been under happier circumstances."

Awkwardly, she fumbled with the papers in her hand, as she willed herself not to crumble. "Carol. Well, most of you know she and I were very close. She was like my sister – closer than that. She was like my twin, born a few years apart...if such a thing were possible..."

Terri lifted a hand to her face, aware that she was rambling. She glanced down at the speech she'd prepared and then ripped it in half and allowed it to drop to the floor in front of the assembled mourners. "I wrote something, but I can't say it. It's not enough. It will never, ever be enough."

Tears filled her eyes, and she tried desperately to blink them back. However, her best efforts were futile as she studied the crowd of Haven Park's best and brightest, brought together once more at the funeral of her very best friend. "You're not supposed to be here today, because Carol is not supposed to be dead. This wasn't supposed to happen. And the more I think about it, the more I hate it. I hate that I don't have my best friend anymore. I hate that those babies don't have a mother anymore. I hate that someone had to do something so...so disgusting and so vile. I hate that...I hate that it wasn't me." She reached up to dry her tears, before taking in a deep breath. "This should be my funeral, not Carol's – because so much of myself died when she did. She was my best friend. Sometimes, she was my only friend. And nothing could ever replace her to me...or any of you, really. She...she..."

She stopped herself as the door to the church opened noisily and Lance stumbled in. His unfashionably late (and ironically timed) entrance caused many in attendance to turn around and stare, before looking back at Terri with such...judgment in their eyes. She felt her cheeks begin to burn as she locked eyes with her husband. "See, Carol was one of a kind," she continued. "She knew everything there was to know about me. All those things people like to whisper about...all those things you're not supposed to tell people. I told Carol, and she never, ever judged me. I had one hell of a best friend and..."

Again, she lifted a hand to her face. She could feel Lance's searing glare, even from well across the room, and it intensified her nerves.

"I sat there and I listened to all of you talking about her, and how wonderful she was, and how she was so beloved and so good and so kind and...you didn't know her at all. Not to say she wasn't all of those things – she was, and then some. But you didn't know the half of it. You didn't know how wonderful she was to me when I went through the hardest time of my whole life. When I couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed, and when nobody," she intentionally emphasized that, "was there. She cared for me. She held me. She talked to me. She told me it wasn't my fault..."

By the looks on some of these people's faces, they knew precisely what she was referring to – all three miscarriages, one after another after another. It was a devastating blow, one Terri still hadn't fully reconciled...and one she never would've moved past if it hadn't been for Carol's support. She cared like nobody else did, not even Lance. He had better things to do. He had a store to run and money to make, and besides, what was the point in grieving for a child who was never even born? He said her grief would be better spent on the suffering of this world, as though her own was not enough to cry about. He made her feel like nothing...again.

"What is life if not to see the seasons passing by? And what is love if not to leave the imprint of its touch?" Terri considered that herself. "Carol touched me in ways that none of you will ever understand...we had a connection deeper than any of you will ever know. And I can't in good conscience stand up here and tell you all some hilarious story about our Lucy and Ethel escapades. I'm sorry, but I can't. There's just no humor to be found in this. My world is shattered, and so are so many other people's. And that's a hurt that doesn't go away. To the Rogers family, I'm so sorry for what you've had to go through. Please know that you have my very deepest sympathies, and...I'm sorry I was never able to be to Carol what she was to me. I'm sorry I'll never get that chance. And...I'm just so, so sorry that it wasn't me."

Her shoulders slumped and she began to openly weep in front of the congregation. It was something she initially felt horrified by, but soon realized it was inevitable. This was, in many ways, the funeral for her entire life as she'd known it. Her parents were gone, her marriage was clearly over, her best friend was dead...there was not much left for her to really hold onto. This was the end of it all...and the finality hit her like a ton of bricks.

For a few moments, no one moved. It felt like time stopped for Terri, but she quickly got ahold of herself. She wiped at her eyes, removed the set of false eyelashes that had come unglued in her grief and then squared her shoulders. "I'm trying to think of something Carol would say...but nothing could do her justice, so I'll just say thank you all for being here, thank you all for your time, and...I love you, Carol. Thank you."

Quietly, she began to walk back to her seat, but Mona stopped her before she could get far, grabbing her in an embrace that hardly felt comforting at all. "You are such a beautiful girl and Carol loved you so very much," she whispered. "Thank you for speaking."

Terri pulled out of the embrace, again wiping at her tears. "She meant everything to me," she whispered back.

"And she knew that," Stan assured, an arm wrapped around her shoulder. "She knew that."

July 7, 1966; 11:45 a.m.

"I JUST DON'T know if I can thank you all for your kind words, and for your great support during this very, very difficult time." Mona's voice was shaking as she addressed the crowd and she clung to Stanley's hand, as though it was a lifeline. "So many beautiful things have been said today, so many wonderful memories of a life well lived. Carol wasn't just my daughter, she was my friend, and she was a role model to me. She had so many amazing qualities that so many of you have touched on, and I don't know that I can add anything to what you've already said. But please know that Carol loved each and every one of you, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for...loving her too."

Stanley moved in to speak, noting his wife was becoming too emotional to continue. He surveyed the crowd and wondered, was one of them the one? Was it the guy in the back, who seemed uncomfortable even being here? Was it the guy who seemed more interested in scanning the hymnal than listening to the tributes? Was it the young punk who had the nerve to smirk and snicker at most everything that was said? The questions were making him crazy, and for just a moment, he visibly cracked under the pressure.

"My daughter was a treasure," he began. "We always knew we had something special on our hands, from the time she was a little baby. She was always so vibrant, so curious, so alive...and that's something she passed on to her boys. It's something that lives on and..." He paused for a long time, as he looked down at his grandsons. They were so young, and they were still coming to grips with all of this themselves. To children, it was inconceivable that one day they had a mother, and the next they did not. Honestly, it was inconceivable to Stan, too.

"She was my only daughter, and her entire life, I did my best to protect her. I killed bugs and chased off dogs that tried to attack her. I kept boys we didn't approve of away from her. I did all the things that a father was supposed to do for their only little girl...but when it counted, I was not there. And..."

Mona began to interrupt, as though she knew exactly where this was going. "Carol was – "

"And I can't live with myself knowing that I could have done something." He spoke over her, intent on making sure this was clear to everyone in attendance – even the killer, should they be brave enough to show their face. "For the rest of my life, I'm going to regret not being there when it counted, and I'm going to grieve for my baby girl. This was senseless and unnecessary and...I just want to say that if you're here right now, you sick bastard...I hope you rot from the inside out for what you did to my daughter. I hope you suffer and burn in hell for doing that to my daughter and..." He stopped, unable to continue without breaking down.

Mona put her arm around him. "Carol was a strong girl, and she was a beautiful girl."

"The most beautiful," Stan seconded, as he fought to regain his composure.

"When she loved, she loved with all of her heart. She gave everything she had, and I'd like to challenge you all to carry on her legacy by living the same way. Don't take anyone for granted, and live every single day as though it were your last, because you just don't know. Thank you all for coming, and thank you all for your support. We truly appreciate it so much."

Chapter Eight:

July 7, 1966; 2:30 p.m.

CAROL'S WAKE WAS held, as wakes often were, in the reception hall at First Baptist. Friends, family, and even relative strangers gathered to share their memories of the deceased and gorge themselves on every sort of dish imaginable. Terri didn't have much of an appetite, however, so she opted to seclude herself in the corner. She wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible, if only to ward off some of the embarrassment. She could read the looks on their faces when she was speaking earlier, and they were all asking the same question that Lance was...one she even asked herself: What the hell happened to that girl?

Carol would have found it all so wickedly absurd. The idea of someone making such a blubbering fool of themselves on her behalf would both please and amuse her – especially if it was a male. Despite herself, Terri smiled. Carol had a very enchanting nature, and no man was completely immune to her charm. Seductive and elusive all at the same time, she would often boast about how irresistible people found her. It gave her such pleasure, she referred to it as her specialty.

As she surveyed the reception hall, something interesting caught Terri's eye: Julia and two older ladies from the church, huddled around the green bean casserole. Terri couldn't make out what they were saying, but she did catch her sister-in-law announce something along the lines of, Carol was such a dear woman! She will be so missed!

At once, Terri's smile faded. It was just like Julia to spout off something like that, especially in the company of those who didn't know the truth. And the truth of the matter was, Carol couldn't stand Julia, and she rarely tried to hide it. She saw right through her, past the pristine facade she far too often attempted to fool people with.

"How in God's name do you possibly put up with her?"

Summoned to Hazel's Diner, Carol had been tasked with helping Terri sort out her complicated marriage woes, but that seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind. For the next half hour, she helped herself to cigarette after cigarette and bitched about all the faithful attendees of First Baptist. She made sure, however, to save the majority of her ire for Julia, who she called, "the most insufferable, phony piece of shit there is."

"I mean," she elaborated, with a snort of indignation, "how can you look across the table at her during holidays and not want to pull her hair out? I really wanna know. How the hell do you do it? Because I couldn't. No way."

Terri laughed, unable to deny that once or twice, the thought had entered her mind. "I don't know. I guess I've just gotten used to her? It's not like I have much of a choice."

"Poor Brett. I mean that. Poor Brett."

She shrugged. "He loves her."

"Well, he's a damned fool!"

Uncomfortably, Terri shifted around in her seat. She never offered a single objection when Carol trashed her sister-in-law – heck, she even joined in a time or two. But bringing Brett into the matter? That was a whole other story...though she knew it would be in her best interest not to say so.

"I mean it," Carol continued. "Your brother is a damned fool – and he's married to a cheap hussy."

Carol always had an amazing way of seeing past the bullshit and cutting right to the heart of the matter. She didn't like very many people, but Terri could say with certainty that the ones she did were good people indeed. Carol was an excellent judge of character...she only wished she'd heeded her advice more often.

As she watched Mayor Pierce go for his fourth helping of Mrs. Patterson's meatloaf, Terri broke into a broad smile. Oh, if only Carol were here. She would have had a field day at the expense of all this shameless gluttony, as well as the overblown displays of grief, exhibited by relative strangers.

"What is it with funerals and food?" she'd asked once, as they shared a cigarette in this very room, following the funeral of a longtime parishioner. It was something Terri didn't quite have an answer for, but found amusing nonetheless.

"I'm serious. Somebody dies, the whole town shows up, everybody acts like they just lost their very best friend ever, and then they break out the food and everything's magically okay again. Food has this amazing curative power, evidently. Makes you forget the dead guy that you never really knew in the first place and bonds you with all the other idiots in this town at the same time. Isn't it wonderful?" Carol rolled her eyes. "Obviously, they know something we don't, wouldn't you say?"

"Well," Terri reminded, "the Bible does say that man should not live on bread alone."

"But on the word of God!" Carol finished the scripture for her, with a throaty laugh. "I'm surprised they haven't tried to eat that too. You know, just sprinkle a little salt on it. Put it in some Tupperware. Bring it to a funeral. They don't have any damned class, none of them. They don't care about that woman – "

"It was a man," Terri corrected. "Mr. Spears."

Carol waved a dismissive hand. "Whoever it was. They don't care about him. They just came for the food. And let me tell you right now, nothing makes you look like more of a fool than a drumstick in each hand. They're disgusting, all of them. Classless pigs!"

Sitting in this reception hall without Carol's hilarious commentary about the slovenly idiots surrounding them just seemed...wrong. So very, very wrong.

"I, uh...I brought you a plate. I didn't know what you wanted, so I just got a little of everything."

A million miles away, Terri didn't notice her husband at first. She was only alerted to his presence when he took a seat beside her and shoved a plate in her direction. He'd brought enough food to sustain a family of three. "I hope you like it."

"I'm really not hungry, but thanks."

Lance moved the overflowing plate even closer. His eyes were insistent. "You need to eat or people will talk."

"People are already talking. Didn't you see the way they're all looking at me?"

He leaned toward her. "Maybe if you wouldn't act like such an outcast, they wouldn't treat you like one."

"Why does everything have to be a fight?"

"I'm not fighting with you," he maintained, in a barely audible volume. "Especially not in public."

"Then just leave me alone, okay? Please?"

"We have to sit together or – "

"People will talk, right?" she interrupted. "Well, you know what? I don't give a damn if they talk, Lance! They're already talking, so why not just let them talk some more? They just wanna sit here and feel better about their own screwed up lives by talking about mine, and that's fine. Might as well give them something to say, huh?"

Terri knew she should've been ashamed of her outburst, but it actually felt pretty good. Carol would have been proud of that, she was sure of it.

Lance, on the other hand, looked about anything but proud. "What did I tell you about a public spectacle?"

"Why do you care so much what people think? That's what I wanna know. Who gives a damn, Lance? If they talk, let them. If they know, good for them. I don't care. I just don't care anymore!"

With that, she stomped toward the door. Lance wasted no time giving chase, which only quickened her steps. She didn't stop until she was in the parking lot, then viciously spun around to glare at him. "What do you want from me? My God, what do you want?"

He wrapped his hand around her forearm so tightly she cried out in pain. "I want you to stop acting like such a child! I told you not to make a big public spectacle, didn't I? I told you I wouldn't tolerate that, didn't I? If you want to embarrass me in public, remember that there are a number of ways I could embarrass you!"

Tears sprang to her eyes and she did her best to blink them back. "Oh really? You gonna go tell everyone what a terrible wife I am, huh? Well, go ahead. I don't care anymore. I don't care who you tell and I don't care what you say. I'm sick of always trying to pretend everything's great between us. We're not fooling anybody!"

"Of course we're not! Because all you ever do is make a damned scene!"

"If you would just leave me alone and let me think and grieve and process all of this in my own way..."

"When are you going to understand I can't do that? When are you going to understand we have – "

"A reputation to uphold." She took the liberty of finishing his sentence for him. "That is, until there's nobody around to impress and then, you can't get away from my grief fast enough!"

His grip on her arm tightened and he jerked her toward him. "You've milked that one for two years now! Don't you think it's time you find something else to throw back in my face? And you know damned well it didn't happen the way you like to remember it."

"The hell it didn't!"

"Your selective memory strikes again! I never left you, I went out and I made a living. I went out and I busted my ass so you could have nice things. I went out and I did what I had to do – damn it, you look at me when I'm talking to you! I did what I had to do so you would be happy, but you're never happy, are you?" When she failed to respond, he shook her, demanding, "Are you?"

"I'm not happy with you," she forced out. "Not anymore."

He reared back and for just a moment, she feared he might strike her. Before he got the chance, however, a figure appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him from behind. It all happened so fast that Terri didn't realize it was Lucas at first, but as she locked eyes with him, her heart sped up. This was not going to end well, she just knew it.

"If you ever put your hands on my girl again, they will never find your body, do you understand me? There will be pieces of you from here to fucking Detroit! Don't you ever – "

Lance didn't allow him to finish his sentence. Instead, as Terri watched in horror less than a foot behind him, he punched Lucas in the jaw with so much force that he stumbled backwards. "For the last damned time, you stay the hell away from me and stay the hell away from my wife!"

"Oh God!" Terri cried, leaping between them. "Oh God, don't. Don't!" That was directed at Lucas far more than Lance. She knew that man well – way too well, and she knew exactly how he would react to that.

He didn't disappoint. "You just made the last mistake of your life!"

"Keep on threatening me, you fucking punk! You're nothing but talk! You wanna be tough? You wanna scatter pieces of me all the way to Detroit?" Lance stepped forward, shoving her out of the way. "Well, here's your chance. I'm standing right here, so you go ahead and try it!"

"Oh God! Don't!" Terri pleaded. She knew what was coming. "Please don't! Lucas!"

"You think I'm nothing but talk, huh?" In a blink, Lucas had his knife drawn. "Well, let's talk about this. Let's talk about me cutting your throat from ear to ear. How's that one? Still think I'm fucking around with you? Huh?"

All of Lance's bravado dissolved into panic before Terri's eyes. He took several steps backward, effectively backing himself into the wall. "You're crazy," he whispered, breathing heavily. "You're both fucking crazy!"

Lucas came closer, his head down. In a vain attempt to diffuse the situation, she grabbed his free hand, but was not fast enough to stop him from pressing his switchblade directly into Lance's throat. "I am fucking crazy, so you better watch what you say to me."

"You – you won't get away with – with this," Lance stammered.

"You'd be amazed at what I can get away with. So let me tell you how this is gonna work, okay? You're gonna back the fuck up, you're gonna keep your hands off my girl and you're gonna stay out of my face, because if you don't – "

Terri tugged at his arm. "Don't, please don't! He's not worth it, okay? Let's just leave."

Lucas didn't seem to register her interruption. "Because if you don't, I'm gonna fucking kill you! Got it?"

For once in his life, Lance didn't appear to have a retort. Terri used the silence to make one more appeal. "Let's just leave, okay? Let's just leave and forget all about this. He's not worth it. Let's just leave."

Lucas glanced over his shoulder at her, but didn't lower his weapon. "You wanna leave, baby? Are you okay?"

"She's fucking fine," Lance informed. He almost sounded like he was crying. "She's fine, my God!"

"Nobody was talking to you!" Lucas yelled, right in his face, before returning his attention to Terri. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine. I'm just fine," she swore, though her arm still ached from Lance's death grip on it. "Let's go, okay?"

For a few agonizing moments, nobody moved. Finally, to Terri's relief, Lucas took a step back, removing the immediate threat to Lance's life. "Okay. We'll go if you wanna go. If you're sure you're okay."

"I'm fine. Everything's just fine."

Lance, struggling to catch his breath, lifted a hand to his throat. "Why would you do this to me?"

It was a question Terri didn't have an answer for, so she made no effort to reply.

From behind her, Lance continued. "Why would you sic your little boyfriend on me? Why would you make everybody think I'm this monster when all I ever did was try to love you and take care of you?"

Terri made the conscious decision to pull Lucas toward her, lest he charge at Lance all over again. "Please. Let's not go into this, okay? We're leaving, so let it go."

Lance shook his head. "So this is it, huh? You get your boyfriend to wave a knife at me and then you just take off? Well, if you leave with him, don't you bother coming home. I mean it, Terri. Don't bother, because we're done!"

The words came as such a shock that Terri wasn't sure how to react. She never would have expected Lance would give up so easily – but then, she never would have expected Lucas to hold a knife to his throat, either.

Before she could come up with a response, Lucas laughed. "Don't worry, brother. She won't."

Terri bit back tears as she moved toward the car, dragging Lucas along with her. "I'm sorry," she offered, over her shoulder.

"You should be sorry!" Lance yelled, from behind them. "Because you just made the worst mistake of your life!"

Though she expected Lucas to have something to say about that, all he did was shake his head. "Don't respond to him," he told her. "That's what he wants. Just keep moving."

Funny he'd choose to be the voice of reason now, when less than five minutes before, she was convinced he was going to kill her husband right in front of her. Still, she nodded. "Let's just get out of here."

July 7, 1966; 2:40 p.m.

"I DON'T KNOW what happened. I don't know what came over me. It was just this...this rage." Shane looked up from his plate and sighed. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Across the table, Brett nodded. "I know you are. But really, you don't need to be apologizing to me."

"I know. And I plan on talking to Stan as soon as I see him again."

"Maybe give him a little space right now. It's a pretty tense day for everybody. I just saw..."

He never bothered to elaborate, but then, he didn't need to, because Shane saw the very same thing. For a few seconds, he wondered if he should address the elephant in the room, before ultimately deciding against it. It wasn't as though this was the first time Terri had stormed out of here with Lance in hot pursuit, after all. Things would have been a lot more shocking if they'd enjoyed a meal together like any other married couple.

Shane got back to the matter at hand. "Tell me something. Honestly."

"Tell you something honestly as Rev, or as your friend?"

"Both. But mainly, as my friend. Was I wrong? Was that wrong? I mean..." Shane looked to Brett, and in an instant, he could read his mind. "I was, wasn't I?"

"Well..."

At about that time, Mr. and Mrs. Phelps, longtime parishioners, came by to say hello. Brett seemed grateful for the distraction and greeted them warmly, but Shane couldn't help but notice they didn't glance in his direction. They weren't the only ones. All afternoon, people had been parading over here to talk to Brett and completely ignoring him – and that told him all that he needed to know.

"They hate me," Shane announced, as soon as the couple returned to their seats.

"Well...I think 'hate' is kind of a strong word."

Shane leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. "I fucked up. Just say it."

"It wasn't something I would do," Brett admitted, after what felt like a five-minute hesitation. "But that's neither here nor there. You do a lot of things I wouldn't do. As for whether or not you were wrong, who am I to say that? It's a crazy day for everybody and...well, you know."

"No, actually, I don't know. What do you mean?"

"Nothing. It's not important."

"Rev."

Brett held up both hands. "Okay, I'll say it, but I want you to know I'm saying this out of concern for you, though that's not gonna make it any easier to hear."

Shane didn't like the sound of that at all, but he still heard himself whisper, "Just say it already."

"Don't be mad at me for this, but I think – no, I know that this has gotten way too personal for you. I mean, look at last night. That was really bad. And then, this morning – well...that wasn't good, either. This whole thing is getting to you and I think..." He paused for a long time. "I really don't wanna say this. I hope you know what I'm getting at."

Shane did, but still spurred him on. "Just say it, Rev."

"You're too close. You're way too close and I don't think that's healthy for you."

Deeply, Shane exhaled. There were a million things he wanted to say to that – things he knew better than to spout off to Mayor Pierce. Still, he knew he could never say them. It wasn't worth pissing off one of the few friends he had left.

He rose from his chair. "I think I need a minute. I think I need to...breathe."

Brett frowned. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you don't wanna hear it, but I'm worried about you. You can't keep going like this, you know? It's not good for you or anybody else."

"It's fine." Much as Terri had a few minutes before, Shane made a mad dash for the door, struggling to maintain his composure all the while. Brett wasn't the first person to say that. He wasn't even the first person to say that today, which only made him feel worse. They were right, damn it. This whole thing was way too personal...but he still couldn't let it go. He felt he owed Carol this much, especially considering how many times he'd let her down.

"You're really gonna marry that guy? Have you lost your mind?"

Carol pointed back at him. "Well, you never made any moves, so what was I supposed to do?"

Her idea of sarcasm stopped Shane cold. "I was supposed to make a move?"

"Uh, yeah. It's called classic romance, Shane. The girl meets the boy that she is determined to marry one day and falls in love at first sight. He doesn't even know she's alive and he moves on with a thousand other girlfriends, shattering her heart into pieces. But then, just when it all looks hopeless, fate brings them back together and they realize they were meant for each other and they live happily ever after, the end. You know, that sort of thing." She shrugged. "I watch a lot of soaps, okay?"

It felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Shane had no idea what to say or do. "Did I really break your heart?" he whispered, his pulse racing. "Because that's the last thing I wanted to do."

"I know that now, but yeah, you did. It was kind of my own fault, though. I should have known better than to think you would be interested in me. I was just a kid and you had all these girlfriends and they were so pretty and so sophisticated...well, except for Sara. Sara was just a whore. Do you remember when you brought her by and she was wearing that ridiculous red sweater?" She shook her head. "Who am I kidding? Of course you remember. You'll probably never forget it!"

Struggling to process the weight of her words, Shane merely blinked back at her. "Red sweater?"

"Red sweater," she repeated, her disgust evident. "She looked like fucking Lana Turner with those tits! And you – you looked like a cartoon character, with your eyes all bugged out! And she was so condescending, too. 'Oh hi, Carol. How's school?' Like you care, whore! I hated Sara. You don't know how happy it makes me that she got fat!"

Shane took another drink to gather his thoughts. "You were jealous of Sara? Really?"

"Do you want to know how jealous I was of Sara? I stuffed my pop's socks in my bra for a week and a half trying to get your attention and you didn't even come over, you asshole!" Carol threw back her head and laughed. "So to answer your question, yes, you broke my heart. But I let you, so I'm just as much to blame. Who wants another drink?"

The thing that bothered Shane the most about that conversation? Carol's feelings for him weren't one sided in the least. The older she became and the more she blossomed into a young woman, the more he began to take notice of the treasure right in front of him. However, he was careful to never act on such urges. She was so much younger than he was. She was like a little sister to him, someone he'd known since she was in middle school, and someone he could honestly count as a best friend.

For every compelling reason Shane could come up with to "make a move," as she'd put it, he came up with five more not to. It seemed all wrong. The age difference, the fact they were such great friends, the fact he was so close to her parents – it never would have worked. Thus, he convinced himself that he'd have better luck elsewhere and put it all out of his mind, suffering through failed relationship after failed relationship and trying to forget about Carol altogether.

But he couldn't. He just couldn't, which was never more evident than back in May, when a night of heavy drinking proved to be disastrous.

"Marry me." Shane's words might've been slurred, but every single one of them was sincere. He shifted around on the barstool to face Carol, reaching for her hand. "Marry me. Tonight. We'll run off. Leave this town. Forget about all these people. You, me and the kids. We can make it work."

"What?" She looked to Charlie the bartender, who only shrugged back at her. "I knew you were getting pretty drunk over there, but I didn't think you were that drunk! Damn, Shane! Are you crazy? I can't do that."

"Yes we can. We can leave right now and start over. Don't you wanna start over, doll? Don't you think we deserve a chance?"

"I think you need to go home and lie down," she dismissed, with a laugh.

"I'm serious. You yourself said you always wished that I would make a move. Well, I'm making a move. Right now. Marry me."

She knocked back her drink, then set the glass on the bar with a loud thud. It was obviously the courage she needed to shatter his expectant heart into pieces. "That was a joke! My God! This is crazy. I can't marry you! I'm already engaged to Jeff."

"You deserve better than him! He's not a husband, he's a babysitter – and he's not even a very good one! You can do better!"

Carol rolled her eyes, much as Shane thought she might. She always did when you caught her dead-to-rights on something. She'd roll her eyes or say something sarcastic, because she knew she couldn't argue with you about it. There was just nothing she could possibly say. Nothing but, "That's not for you to say, is it?"

He made another clumsy attempt to take her hand. "I love you. I have always loved you. I just never knew how to tell you. I just...I love you."

Again, she looked to Charlie, then she hid her face. "Oh my God. Shane, honey...you really need to go home and lie down. Sleep this whole thing off and I promise, I won't look so appealing by morning. I promise you that."

"I don't wanna lie down! Damn it, I wanna get the hell out of this stupid little town and I want you to come with me! We're wasting our lives, don't you see that? We could be like that couple on the soap. We could be happy, doll!"

She giggled as she motioned for another drink. "Shane, you wanna know what happened to that couple on the soap? She died trying to push her child out of the way of a speeding vehicle. I think it was a bus. It's been a while. But anyway, they didn't live happily ever after. Nobody lives happily ever after. It's all just smoke and mirrors. You have to make your happiness wherever you can."

"And I wanna make mine with you."

"Well, I want a million dollars and a night with Paul McCartney. It's not going to happen, Shane. I'm sorry."

Damn, he really needed to quit drinking in public. It seemed like every time he did, he made a fucking fool of himself. For days after that particular fiasco, Shane avoided Carol like the plague, humiliated he could spew out something so personal. She, however, patiently insisted he had nothing to be worried about; she knew it was merely drunken babble, she promised, and even said she was shocked he remembered it the next morning.

Yeah. Drunken babble.

"Shane! Just the man I wanted to see!" Lance Englund stalked toward him with purpose. His eyes were burning with rage, and Terri was nowhere in sight.

Shane extended a hand. "Lance. Good to see you."

Lance shook his hand with a firm, if clammy, grip and drew in a quick breath. "We need to have a talk."

Shane did his best to force the remorse out of his mind. There were more important things to worry about right now, such as whatever had Lance wound up this time. "What's the matter?"

"Lucas Brady is what's the matter. That motherfucker just pulled a knife on me!"

July 7, 1966; 5:10 p.m.

JEFF SPENT THE entire evening packing. There was no way could he stay here. First and foremost, it wasn't even his house, and he was sure that Stan and Mona would come and forcibly throw him out soon enough – especially if they shared Shane's opinion that he was a murderer not even fit to attend his own fiancée's funeral. But the second, more underlying reason, was memories. There were so many memories in this house, bittersweet recollections of the happiest and shortest chapter of his life.

With careful consideration, Jeff went through each room, claiming what was his, and even a few things that weren't, such as the spoon Carol hung next to the stove as a warning to the boys. It was blatant misuse of something that was supposed to symbolize so much more – not that she'd ever cared about that sort of thing, anyway. When he presented it to her on Valentine's Day, she was considerably less than thrilled.

"You're giving me a spoon."

"Don't say it like that. It's not just a spoon. It's a love spoon."

Carol ran her fingertip along the carvings. "And what the hell is a love spoon?"

"It's a gesture. It means I'm crazy about you. Goes back a long way. Used to be, this is what you gave the girl you were going to marry to show her father what a good provider you are."

She laughed uproariously at the whole idea. "Oh yeah, I can't wait to show Pop this one! That'll win him over, for sure!"

"You could try not to find this so funny, you know?" He didn't know why he said that – it was just an open invitation for her to find even more humor at his culture's expense.

"It's either laugh or cry! Some girls get flowers, some get chocolate, some get hot, crazy sex all night long...and I get a spoon. Wow, Jeff, you really know how to make a girl feel special!"

"You should feel special, because I've never given that to anybody before. My father gave that to my mother. He made it himself – well, he said he did, anyway. He might not have. In fact, he probably didn't. But that's not the point. The point is, that really meant something to her and..."

"Your mother was easy to please."

"It's a big deal in Wales, okay?" he justified, with a shrug.

Carol smiled, though her eyes were far from sincere. "Well, this ain't Wales. So what am I supposed to do with this thing? Cook with it? Hang it on the wall? Sleep with it under my pillow?"

"You can do whatever you want with it."

Those words later came back to haunt him, as Carol interpreted them to mean you can hit the kids with it when there's nothing else available. The idea that she'd subject them to that type of punishment was revolting, especially when you considered what the love spoon was supposed to symbolize in the first place. Okay, so maybe it was stupid to her – maybe it would be considered stupid to any random American, unfamiliar with Welsh customs. But instead of asking, instead of showing an interest in what the tradition actually meant, she mocked it, just like she did everything else. His upbringing? The fact that despite years of fluency, he sometimes forgot how to say certain words in English? The Welsh language as a whole? Yeah, she mocked that too.

His upbringing was exaggerated, or so she claimed. Nobody could have been that poor, for God's sake – not even an immigrant woman with two kids and no real skill other than having babies and tending to sheep.

The fact he struggled with English words, especially when she made him nervous, was a testament to his stupidity, because really...who could possibly forget cranberries? What a simple word! And whatever this llugaeron nonsense was didn't sound very appetizing at all.

As for the Welsh language, Carol decided that whomever came up with it must have been drunk, because it sounded a lot like the noises people made when they were their most inebriated.

All in all, she took great pleasure in pissing all over his culture, and everything about him, really – but that was the final straw. Every ounce of love that he had for her transformed into unbridled rage in the blink of an eye, and he lost all control over himself. He never should have gotten so angry, and he knew that, but something about watching her hit that kid with the love spoon evoked something so primal in him it was difficult to explain. Before he could take a moment to think about what he was doing, he'd jerked that thing out of her hand and backed her up against the wall. In no time, she called the cops and gave them her spin on the story, making sure to leave out the part about beating her younger son for no reason other than she was drunk and he was a easy target. It was not the first time she'd completely gone overboard with the discipline – but it was the last. Jeff made sure of it.

Right then and there, he should have made good on his so-called threat. He didn't know why he didn't, looking back on it. Maybe he knew he'd never get away with it. Maybe he was too damned scared. Whatever the reason, he made every effort to put one foot in front of the other and slog through the day. Actually, the days weren't so bad. It was the nights that were horrible. Half the time, he didn't even want to sleep in the same bed with her, because she disgusted him that much. Still, despite his contempt for her, and those horrible drunken nights, he did his best to keep it together, if only for the sake of those kids.

God, those kids. They didn't have a mother now, and they probably wouldn't have a (step) father anymore either. In this whole fucked up situation, that was what hurt the most. He never thought he would care this much about them, but they ended up filling a void he'd never even known existed. The transformation was so startling that even Jeff had trouble believing it. Almost overnight, he'd gone from a two-bit hustler just out for a quick buck to a devoted family man, who would have gone to hell and back for those kids. They became everything to him – his whole world. And now, all of that was gone, in one second; one moment of time that he wished to God he could take back.

He wished he could have made better decisions. He wished he could have resisted the temptation, guarded his heart, realized and appreciated that he had a great life at home, Carol's raging alcoholism notwithstanding. But he didn't. Instead, he rolled the dice and risked it all on a married woman. God, how the hell could he be so stupid?

Jeff knew it was wrong. He'd known that from day one, but he was arrogant enough to believe he wasn't hurting anyone. He never thought anyone would find out about it, especially given how careful they'd been to cover their tracks. But Carol knew. Somehow, she knew and she confronted him on it. It came up again and again and again, and every time it did, he denied it. He told her she was crazy. He told her he loved her. He told her he would never do anything like that to her...but she knew. She knew the truth and when she'd finally had enough of his lies, she walked out.

The guilt of standing there and watching her leave the house they shared for the final was overwhelming. This was all his fault. She wouldn't have died if she hadn't gone out that night. She wouldn't have gone out that night if he hadn't been lying to her. He held himself directly responsible for the circumstances that led to her death – but that in no way made him a murderer, nor did it give Shane the right to accuse him of such.

Shane. Jeff's remorse turned to rage at the thought of him. In his day, he'd done more than his share of rotten, shitty things – but nothing could have possibly topped Shane's spectacle this morning. It was senseless, to the point of being insane. No matter what angle you looked at it from, it didn't come close to being justified, and looking back on it, Jeff never should have left. He'd probably just spurred Shane on by doing so. The crazy son of a bitch thought he'd won now, and he was probably gloating about it right now.

Cyfreithiwr. That didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore. Maybe Steve knew somebody – he had a hell of a lot of connections. Maybe it was worth a shot, because things were only bound to get worse if Shane took this morning as a victory. If the guy thought he could get away with a witch hunt like this, he'd do it all over again the next time a crime hit way too close to home. It was unacceptable – and Jeff couldn't let him win.

Chapter Nine:

July 9, 1966; 11:15 a.m.

"I DON'T THINK he's coming." Terri checked her watch for what felt like the twentieth time, then slumped forward to rest her head on her brother's desk.

Brett glanced up from the sermon he was piecing together to calmly remind, "He's coming. Marnie called him this morning to remind him, and he didn't say anything to her about canceling. He's probably just running late."

"He's not coming – and why should he? You know, he didn't wanna do this anyway and he really doesn't have a reason to show up now and..."

She didn't bother to elaborate. It was too embarrassing to admit that the last time she saw her husband was the day before yesterday...and that Lance's parting shot was a warning that if she left with Lucas, she was not to return home. They were done. After years of pent-up resentment, months of non-stop arguing and enough sore words to fill an encyclopedia, he had finally agreed it was best to part ways. Terri expected to feel triumph – after all, this was the best possible outcome for her – but instead, she found herself weighed down by a persistent, melancholy guilt. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

Maybe she was being irrational. Maybe she was being too sentimental about this, but for him to come to that reckoning, he had to have been decimated by the fact she chose Lucas over him. Lance had never accepted defeat graciously – it was such a rarity that Terri wasn't certain if he even knew what it meant. The man never lost, period...except for on the field that mattered the most. Not only that, he lost in full view of Haven Park at large, with a knife to his throat for good measure. It was a violent, abrupt end to something that never should have been and damn it, she felt terrible about that. As ridiculous as it sounded, she had always hoped for a more peaceful solution – one where they shook hands, shrugged their shoulders and moved on to whatever adventure life had in store for the next.

For the past two nights, she'd done her best to placate herself. It was bound to happen. It was a mutual decision. It was for the best...but none of that was true. In the remote chance there had been a peaceful solution to be found, she never worked very hard to achieve it. She basically folded her hand and gave up on the marriage, mocking Lance's attempts to rekindle the flame. She went out of her way to defy him, rub her affair with Lucas in his face and make him miserable. Was it any wonder he hated her so much? Was it any wonder he was so angry all the time? Who wouldn't be under those circumstances?

Terri turned her body toward the door, though she knew better than to expect Lance to walk through it. What reason did he have? There was no point in discussing it, especially in the company of someone he couldn't stand. "He's not coming," she resolved, rising to her feet. "This was a very bad idea and I'm so sorry to have wasted your time."

Within seconds, Brett was behind her. "Whoa, not so fast. You didn't waste my time and you know this isn't a bad idea. You told me this was the only option you had left."

"That was before..." She paused, unable to give voice to her remorse.

Before he could attempt to dissuade her again, the door to the office flung open and Lance stormed in. She watched as he approached, her initial disbelief giving way to compassion as she surveyed his disheveled appearance. His clothes weren't pressed, his hair wasn't combed and his eyes were far more dull than she remembered them. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week and his gait was slow and irregular, indicating his bum knee had flared up again.

Terri found herself unable to take her eyes off of him...but he didn't seem keen to glance in her direction. Instead, he stopped in front of Brett. "We're gonna have to make this fast, because I have somewhere I have to be in less than an hour." It was the most civil she'd ever seen him be in such a circumstance, and that seemed to say it all.

"Yeah, sure," Brett agreed. "Have a seat."

Lance mumbled something caustic and biting in response as he settled into the chair. A rush of color sprang up on Terri's cheeks. "This was a bad idea. This was a really, really bad idea," she murmured,

Glowering, he turned his head toward her. "You're damned right this was a bad idea, but it was still your idea, so we're going to do it!"

"Uh, why don't you just have a seat and we can give this a shot? If you still think it's a bad idea in ten minutes, we can stop. Fair enough? Everybody's happy that way, right?" As usual, Brett's appeal was far more rational, which seemed to infuriate Lance further.

"Why not just put a fucking bottle in her mouth, too?" he snapped, before settling his searing glare on her again. "You're the one who told me you wanted to do this. You're the one who told me you were gonna walk out if we didn't! Now you wanna back out? Why am I not surprised? You hold all the cards here and you know it. You just want to play this for all it's worth and you," he pointed back at Brett, "you just wanna sit there and nod along with everything she says, like some mindless fucking robot! Why the hell am I even here? What was the damned point in coming here? So you could embarrass me further? Is that it?"

"Nobody wants to embarrass you," Brett informed him evenly.

"I'm sorry about the other day," Terri ventured. It was all she could think to say, though she knew it would never come close to absolving the sin of her betrayal.

"Are we doing this or not?" Lance asked, rolling his eyes.

The expectation in the room seemed tangible. Terri could feel their eyes on her, and it deepened her blush. "Okay," she finally whispered. "We can try it."

"Her majesty has spoken!"

Ignoring Lance's sarcasm, Terri inched toward the chair beside him. Her legs felt as though they were made from concrete and with every step, she pondered a civil way to break the ice. Perhaps she could ask how his knee was doing. Perhaps she could say something random to alleviate the tension...but the closer she drew, the more his expression warned against it. He was one false move away from detonation, and she needed to tread cautiously.

Brett took his place behind the desk and waited for her to settle before speaking. "Okay, so I want to start out by saying I don't want you to think of me as your brother," he looked to Lance, "or brother-in-law right now. I really want you to think of me as an objective third party, just trying to help you talk it out. In fact, why don't you just completely ignore me? It's a completely open forum, so say whatever you need to say to each other, and I'll just moderate. How's that?"

Lance waved a dismissive hand. "Yeah, sure, great. Can I go first?"

Panic seized Terri all the way to her core. The man she knew would never volunteer to go first, especially considering the audience...unless he thought he had something to prove. The truth of the matter was, he had far more mud to sling at her than she had to retaliate. The majority of this remained her fault, and she was well aware of that, but she never thought he'd be brazen enough to say so in public! Lance hated that sort of thing! Big, public spectacles were the bane of his existence!

...not that stopped her from causing one at Carol's wake. She turned her head, locking eyes with him, and that was when she saw the flash of triumph in his eyes. He wouldn't!

"No," she forced out, louder and more desperate than she'd intended. "I'd really prefer to go first."

Lance directed his response to Brett. "I bet you've quite enough out of her already, haven't you, buddy?"

"Objective third party," Brett reminded.

"In other words, 'don't drag me into this.'" Lance grinned across the desk at him. "It's a little late for that one, don't you think?"

Terri reached out to his arm. "Lance, stop it. Please."

He jerked from her grasp. "I'll say whatever I damn well please. My days of keeping quiet to suit you are long gone!"

"Well, then, turn it on me if you're mad at me. Don't turn it on Brett. It's not his fault, it's mine."

"Oh, believe me, I know it's your fault, dear," he informed, with a laugh, "but I don't think he does."

"Please," she whispered, leaning toward him, "Please don't."

"Why not? You trust him more than anyone else! You said so yourself!"

"Objective third party," Brett reminded again, a little louder this time.

"I heard you the first damned time!" Lance spat back at him. "Though for the record, you're full of shit. How the hell is objective possible when good old Peaches here has already filled your head with her side of the story?"

"Lance, please." Terri had never been more insistent about anything in her life. "Don't do this."

"What? It's true, isn't it? He already knows about how terrible I am to you, he knows about the way I neglect you, he knows about me yelling at you – and you probably told him the same damned lie about me hitting you, too! And I mean, why not? You told everyone else, didn't you?"

Brett appeared to gauge the situation carefully for a moment, before advising, "Calm down. There's no reason to get so upset about this."

Lance leapt from his chair with such force that it almost toppled backward. "Who the fuck do you think you are telling me how to react to this? Fuck you! You don't know a damned thing about my marriage, pal! Not one thing, so don't you dare get on your fucking high horse and tell me I don't have a reason to be so upset! You don't know shit!"

Terri shifted a helpless gaze from Brett to Lance, then back again. Her brother maintained his usual calm, but she could tell, if only from the nervous way he drummed his fingers on the desk, that he was rattled by the outburst. "Are you done?" he asked, after a lengthy hesitation.

"No!" Lance erupted, at full volume. "I'm not done – I'm just getting started, buddy!"

"My God, Lance!" Terri looked over at him, desperate tears prickling her eyes. "Please!"

"No, it's fine," Brett assured. "It's fine. Go ahead, Lance. Is it making you feel any better to yell at me? Because if it is, that's great. I'd rather you yell at me than her, anyway."

Lance didn't appear to have anything to say to that, thankfully. Terri couldn't believe what was unfolding. She had no idea how Brett could remain so calm, but it was a trait she wished she could share. Her nerves were as fragile as glass right now, and more cracks were appearing by the second.

"Do you wanna yell at me some more or do you wanna tell her how you feel?" Brett's question shattered the silence. "It might be better if you actually told her how you felt, but I'm just the objective third party, so what do I know?"

"Go to hell, you fucking crackpot smartass! She knows exactly how I feel and she doesn't care! She doesn't care about anything but herself and that – that..." Without finishing his sentence, he turned back toward the door. "Oh, what's the point? It doesn't matter, anyway. She already made her choice."

Brett cast a brief, concerned glance to her before getting up to follow him to the door. "Hey, don't leave now. You can keep yelling at me if you want. You can yell at me all day long, I don't care. Just don't – hey, think about this. If you walk out now, it's just like giving up. That doesn't sound like you. You never give up on anything, so why don't you stay and try to work through this, huh?"

Lance shook his head. "You know, if I were a lesser man, I'd turn around and punch your fucking lights out. You've been nothing but a thorn in my side for years and there's not a single person who would blame me! But you're not worth that. And this isn't either."

With that, he slammed out of the room, the door ricocheting off the wall behind it hard enough to dislodge a picture frame, which shattered onto the floor. His exit served as the final crack to her restraint and she drew in a deep breath, bursting into sobs. If she didn't feel like a fool before, she certainly did now. He had his chance – the chance to get even in the cruelest of ways, and he didn't take it. That, above all else, made her feel horrible. He held back which told her that for all of the yelling and screaming, he had still loved her – at least to some extent.

My God, what had she done?

July 9, 1966; 11:50 a.m.

SUMMONING ALL OF his confidence, Shane knocked on the open door of Elton Frazier's office. "You wanted to see me?"

Frazier, embroiled in conversation with Mayor Pierce across the desk, looked up and grunted. He was a powerful man, one who commanded attention and respect. He didn't exhibit any of the same kind, fatherly qualities Stan brought to the position – his eyes were cold, and his demeanor eternally stern. When he talked, you couldn't help but listen, because his admonishments carried for miles. He was overbearing and crass, but for the most part, he was fair. Shane had to give him that much.

Mayor Pierce stood, extending a hand. "Shane, it's good to see you. Come on in, have a seat."

"What's this about?" Shane asked, though his rumbling gut seemed to already know.

Never one to skirt an issue, Frazier didn't wait for Shane to sit down before announcing, "People are complaining about you. They don't like the way you're handling this, and frankly, I don't either!"

Shane sank into the chair, placing a firm grip on each armrest. "What are you talking about?"

"Couple of nights ago, you went to a bar, correct?"

"What does that have to do with any – "

Before Shane could finish, Frazier interrupted, "You made a drunken jackass of yourself, brought down the whole police force with the way you acted and publicly accused Jeff Howard of something you have yet to prove he actually did!"

"Whoa, wait. Just wait." Shane's eyes traveled from Frazier to Mayor Pierce, then back again. "Who the hell told you this?"

"It doesn't matter who made the complaint," Mayor Pierce hedged. "What matters is whether or not it's true. Is it true, Shane? Because, really...I would think someone in your position would have better sense than to do something like that." He paused for half a beat. "But then, we do remember what happened at poor Carol's funeral."

That seemed to be the opening Frazier needed to go for the throat. "I have never been more embarrassed than I was that day! You didn't just make yourself look like a jackass, you made the entire force look like a jackass when you did that! What the holy hell were you thinking?"

"That..." Shane leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. "That was a momentary lapse in judgment. One of those heat of the moment things. I apologize."

Frazier was far from done. "You proved something to me that day. You proved to me you're not a detective. You're nothing but a hot headed punk, who isn't ready to even answer phones around here, much less – "

"Now Elton, settle down," Mayor Pierce interrupted. "Let's not go crazy here. Shane, we all know that you're one of the best we've got. You don't quit, and that's a good thing, on the whole...but sometimes, that doesn't work out so well. Like what happened at the funeral. Do you understand?"

Shane opened his mouth, ready to offer a pitiful defense, but the mayor held up a hand to prevent it. "We already talked about this; you already know how I feel about this, and the final decision isn't even up to me. But I want you to know right now, I understand how you feel. I know where you're coming from, but that does not make it right, son. Do you understand? It doesn't make it right."

Mayor Pierce had this amazing way of making you feel all of five years old. Shane almost expected him to reach out and pat him on the head, then offer up a lollypop from his pocket. However, it was a nice contrast from the pit bull Frazier had become all of a sudden. So much for fair.

"What have you got on Jeff Howard?" Frazier demanded. "For that matter, what have you got on anything? Have you made any kind of progress at all?"

"Well..." Shane hated to admit it. All he had was one witness who saw Jeff return home late at night, the charges Carol declined to file and a strong, strong suspicion.

Frazier nodded. "That's what I thought. You haven't done anything but sit on your ass and wage a personal vendetta against Jeff Howard, ignoring the fact there's a goddamned murderer on the loose in this city and it's your job to find him! My office got a fucking call from a lawyer this morning about you! Jeff Howard is threatening to sue the whole damned city over you! With all due respect, Clay, if this is the best one we've got, then we're all fucked!" The words came out like nails, each one penetrating a little deeper.

"Elton, let's not go nuts."

"Why pussyfoot around it?" Frazier snorted, pointing back at Shane. "You're not the best one we've got – far from it! You're an overzealous, hot-headed, pain in the ass little punk! You're an embarrassment to the badge, you have no idea what the hell you're doing, and you're off the damned case, as of right now!"

Chapter Ten:

July 9, 1966; 11:55 a.m.

IT SEEMED LIKE time stopped at that moment. All Shane could do was stare at Frazier, his heart racing. "You can't be serious," he drawled.

Frazier glared across the desk at him, almost daring him to argue about it. "You and I both know you probably never should have been involved in this in the first place! It's far too personal! We all see that now!"

Too personal. Shane was beginning to loathe that phrase.

"All right, so it is a little personal," he conceded. "Carol was my friend. I cared about her. I especially care about putting the son of a bitch who killed her away. How is this a bad thing? I just don't see it. I messed up, I did some stupid things – I admit that. But if nothing else, that should just show you how dedicated I am to this! Hell yes, it's personal, but doesn't that make me the best person for the job, because of the tie I have to her?" Desperately, he glanced from Frazier to Mayor Pierce, then back again. It was a long shot, but he just couldn't let this go. He owed Carol this much. He owed Haven Park as a whole this much. "I mean," he ventured, "doesn't that make the most sense in this situation?"

"Of all the stupid things you've said, that is by far the – "

Before Frazier could get any further, Mayor Pierce stepped in. "In theory, yes, that would make the most sense. But Shane, son, you can't really expect anybody to believe that, can you? You've made this more of a witch hunt than anything else. The way you're going about things is...well, questionable at best. I think we can all agree on that one. Your actions have been embarrassing – not only to yourself, but to me and to Elton and to this entire city."

Shane attempted to interrupt, but the mayor spoke over him. "Just listen for a minute, son. Listen. You know me. I want answers. Don't get me rhetoric, don't give me excuses, just give me answers. And so far, you haven't provided any answers at all. Just questions – mainly about your own sanity and stability. This is taking a toll on you, Shane. We can all see that."

"Clay, you were far more diplomatic than I would be," Frazier noted, shaking his head. "I'd just say he's acting like a dumbass who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing!"

"I think your best option right now would be to back away," Mayor Pierce advised, with a weak placating smile – the sort you would give a wayward, crying child who'd been caught in their mischief. "Let somebody else take over. Take care of yourself and leave innocent people alone."

"Jeff isn't fucking innocent!" Shane argued. "I'm telling you, he's not!"

"As far as I'm concerned, he is – until you or someone else can prove otherwise. Leave him alone. Stay away from him. Do you understand? It's best for everyone involved if you just leave him alone." Mayor Pierce kept his usual composure, but Shane could tell his patience was wearing thin.

He stood, taking in a deep breath. "So that's it? He kicks up some sand, he comes up with some bullshit about a lawyer – and by the way, the Jeff I know could never afford a lawyer, anyway – and then you get nervous and get rid of me? My God, don't you get it? He's grasping at straws here! He's desperate! He knows I know! Can't you see that?"

Frazier was silent for what seemed like an eternity. All he did was sit there, glaring at him. "You got balls. You know that?"

Whether or not that was a compliment, especially coming from Frazier, Shane couldn't say. Mayor Pierce was quick to clarify the intent, standing. "Leave it alone, Shane. That is not a request, that is an order."

"And get the hell out of my office!" Frazier added, for good measure.

Shane didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but he did know there was nothing left to say. This was not a battle he was gonna win. "Yes sir," he mumbled. "Whatever you say."

July 9, 1966; 1:25 p.m.

"SO HOW DID everything go this morning?"

All it took was one look over at Brett for Julia to realize she never should have asked. He shoved his still-incomplete sermon aside, leaned back in the chair and ran both hands over his face. "It was a mess. It was a complete mess."

Beside him, Julia did her best to sound sympathetic, though she'd figured as much. She reached out to rest a comforting hand on his knee. "I'm sorry."

"It might've lasted ten minutes, all told. And at least five of those were Lance yelling at me."

That didn't surprise her either. It was sad, really. Julia would be the first to admit her opinion of her sister-in-law was far from favorable, but at least she made the effort to be subtle about it. When it counted, she knew how to make nice and put pettiness aside for the sake of unity. Lance was completely incapable of such a thing.

His resentment was open, his hostility bold. He badmouthed Brett to anyone who would listen. He had a sarcastic, snide comeback for almost everything Brett said. He regarded him as "crazy" and "a liar", though Brett certainly was not crazy and he'd never lied to Lance about anything Julia was aware of. However, the ultimate slap in the face was Lance's abrupt decision to boycott the church and resign as head deacon when Brett became pastor.

It wasn't so much the action itself, rather, the very public way in which he carried it out. Lance went to the deacons to protest Brett's new position and made many of the same hateful, unfounded allegations he made to everyone else. It was incredibly embarrassing, and damaging to Brett's reputation at the time, and there was no conceivable reason for him to have done such a thing. His only rationale was a petty resentment that, when confronted on, he couldn't even explain. He said it was a long story. He said she didn't need to worry with it, completely dismissing her as some insignificant little female who had no mind or feelings of her own. But then, he regarded Terri much the same way, so she shouldn't have been surprised about that, either.

"I'm always amazed that a man his age can be so immature," Julia mused, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, honey. I know that's the last thing you needed today."

Brett shrugged. "You know, it's sad to say, but I've gotten pretty used to getting yelled at whenever Lance is around. That's not what bothers me. What bothers me is the way he just stormed out of here. It's like he doesn't even want to try. And you should have seen her after that, Jules. She was just a wreck. It was horrible."

Nodding, she opened the drawer of his desk to dig for a distraction. This could go on for a while. "Of course."

"She thinks this whole thing is her fault. I feel terrible for her."

"I know. I know you do." Julia retrieved the emery board she'd stashed months before for such a time as this and waited for him to elaborate further.

"I just don't know, Jules. I mean...I wanna help, but sometimes, I don't know what to do. I don't know if anything could make a difference at this point, you know what I mean?"

"Well, the most you can do is try to bring them together. The rest is up to them."

With a gentle motion, he reached out to brush some hair behind her ear. "I know. It's just hard to see them going through that. They don't have what we have, you know?"

Julia directed her response to the floor. "I know."

"I don't know what's going on. I'm not sure I wanna know, but..." His fingers still loosely lingered in her hair as he spoke. "There's a lot wrong, baby...and I don't know if it can be fixed. That is what bothers me the most. I just get this feeling it might be too late and I would hate to see that happen, you know? I don't wanna see that happen to her."

She noticed how he left Lance out of the equation entirely, but chose to say nothing of it. "I know. None of us do."

"And of course, she thinks it's all her fault – you know how she is. She sat here and cried for an hour and that's really hard to hear. She thinks she did all these terrible things and he'll never forgive her and...I don't know."

For a moment, Julia debated the best way to respond. Was there a best way to respond to something like this? Likely not. "That's unfortunate." It was the only thing she could think to say.

"Jules, listening to that was so hard. I hate that this is hurting her so much, and I just get the feeling that – "

The phone rang. Grateful for the momentary distraction, Julia reached toward it. "I'll get it."

He shoved his sermon toward her. "I got it. You just read this and tell me if it's terrible or not. And put the music back on, would you?"

"Right, sure."

The caller was Mrs. Leland, in a flux over her only son's impending deployment. It was clear she was quite upset about it, and Brett spent the next half hour talking and praying with her, while Julia searched the Bible for scriptures she thought might be of use right now. Now that? That was the definition of a true crisis. She couldn't imagine the fear and agony the Leland family had to be going through. In comparison, Terri's constant woes (that she largely brought on herself) seemed meaningless and trivial – yet, they still ended up with the lion's share of Brett's attention.

Julia couldn't understand it. Terri was a grown woman, for goodness sake! It was time to let her make her mistakes, accept that she wasn't always right or innocent or otherwise victimized and tell her she needed to work certain things out for herself, rather than involving him at every turn. Of course, that would never happen – not in a million years, but it was still nice to fantasize about.

After he got off the phone, Brett looked even more shaken up than before, but he said very little. Bible still open to the 91st Psalm, he went back to writing his sermon. Under the guise of filing her nails, Julia studied him. Over the years, she'd gotten good at detecting when stress was taking its toll...and right now was one of those times. She watched him read the passage, write a couple of sentences, cross them out, then repeat the entire process with another randomly picked psalm before looking over at her. "Remind me again why I always wait till the last minute to do this."

"Well," she began, as she peered over his slumped shoulders to read what he had so far, "you've always said that you hate to sound rehearsed."

"Sometimes...I don't know. Sometimes I just run out of things to say."

Her voice was gentle. "That can happen sometimes, but for what it's worth, I really like this so far."

"I didn't actually mean the sermon." Brett stood and began to pace the small confines of his office. "I don't know, Jules. I'm supposed to have the answers, you know? People look to me to have answers and I wanna help them. My God, I do, but there's just some things I don't have an answer for. I don't know what to say, and I know that's letting people down and..." He came to a stop right in front of her and sighed, his frustration evident. "Baby, sometimes I just wonder what I'm doing here and if this is really where I need to be. Obviously, I'm not doing much good."

"Yes you are!" Julia argued. "Don't ever doubt that! You are just where you need to be, and you are doing the absolute best you can! You can't be expected to have all the answers all the time. Sometimes, there just aren't any. But I think people like Mrs. Leland appreciate the fact you try. They appreciate that you're there to listen, to talk with them and pray with them. I think that's what matters here, Brett, and Mrs. Leland knows that. They couldn't track Andrew down even if they wanted to. It's not like that with you. You're always here. You're always accessible. It's never a bad time – they appreciate that. I know they do."

"And Terri?"

Julia caught herself about to spew, What about her? She doesn't appreciate anything you do for her, and she probably never will. She stood, moving toward him. "You're doing the very best you can in that situation, too."

"I don't know, Jules."

"Brett, I'm going to say something that you probably don't want to hear – "

"If it's about Terri, then I probably don't want to hear it, you're right."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well, you need to. Neither one of us know what's going on with those two. It's probably been going on for a very long time, and I'm sorry, but you can't accept personal responsibility for her happiness. It's not your job to fix this. Even you have limitations, and they need to realize that – you need to realize that. I'm sorry to have to put it to you like this, but you can't expect to magically repair something they've taken years to break down to this point. Were they ever happy? Have they ever actually been happy? Because I don't think they have and again, that is not your responsibility. I know you want to help them, but there's nothing you can do to change this. The only thing you can do is be there to try and support them and guide them, the best way you can. The rest is up to them."

Julia took in a cleansing breath after that. It felt liberating to finally give voice to what had been raging through her mind all week, but as she watched her husband pace toward the door, his back to her, she wondered if she should have been so bold. She thought to backpedal, but he turned to face her before she could come up with anything remotely sincere to say.

"I'm all she's got, Jules. I'm it. It doesn't even seem like she's got him anymore, and I can't let her down, you know? I just can't do that to her. I know I can't fix it, but I'm still gonna try. I have to. I can't just stand there and let this – "

The phone provided a shrill interruption, and Julia sighed as he walked back toward it. His eyes revealed how much her dose of reality had wounded him, but in true Brett fashion, he didn't say a word. He had such a gentle nature, and would never dream of arguing with her about it, but his disappointed silence stirred her heart far more than any rebuttal could.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, as he settled behind the desk and grabbed the phone on the third ring. "I was out of line in saying that. I'm sorry, honey."

All he did was nod.

July 9, 1966; 4:50 p.m.

HER BELONGINGS GATHERED, Marnie was about to let Brett and Julia know she was leaving for the day when the door of the church office opened. Startled, she took a step back. They weren't expecting anyone else today.

The visitor proved even more of a surprise: a rugged, unshaven and noticeably weary Jeff. He stood there for a second, his hands in his pockets, before speaking. "Hey. Bad time?"

"No! Of course not," she insisted, rushing toward him. "I was about to leave, but...my word, what happened to you? You look awful!"

"That's a long story. Uh, if you were about to leave, I can come back another time. I just...I just wanted to..."

"Sit down," she encouraged, guiding him to a chair. "What's the matter?"

"Wow, I don't know where to start. I've never been good with words, you know that. Uh...God, Marn, I don't wanna keep you and I don't know how the hell to say this, so maybe...maybe we should just try this another time."

"Talk to me."

He took in several deep breaths, his eyes on the wall behind her. "Uh...okay. Okay, so I have a favor to ask you and I don't want you to get upset or anything. I really, really don't want you to get upset about this."

"Why would I get upset?"

"Because you're you and you tend to get upset about stuff like this. So – so don't get upset, okay? It's all fine. I just...fuck." He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands. "Okay, so...I moved out."

For a moment, Marnie blinked back at him, processing that information. "Why?" she asked, in a throaty whisper. "They didn't make you leave, did they?"

"No, nothing like that. I chose to leave. I just couldn't, you know, stay there anymore after everything that's happened and so...yeah."

From the look on his face, Marnie already knew the answer to her next question, but she still asked it anyway. "And where are you staying now?"

Jeff reached across the desk to place a hand on her arm. "So this is the part I didn't want you to get upset about. I'm kind of...not really staying anywhere."

"Jeff! Oh no!"

"Hey, it's fine. Everything's fine."

"You don't have a place to stay, that's not fine!" she pointed out, her emotion getting the better of her. "How are you managing? Are you eating? Please at least tell me you're eating!"

He hesitated for a very long time. "Actually, uh...not really, which is sort of what I came to talk to you about. Do you think – fuck, I don't wanna say this. Uh, do you think there's any way that maybe you could...help me out a little? Just a little. You know, not much. Just...enough. For now."

Marnie bit her lip. "Oh Jeff."

"I hate to ask you – I'd never ask you for anything, and you know that. I'm not what people think I am. I'm not some user or something and I don't wanna have to ask anybody for stuff, but...there's no other option right now and...fuck."

"I can't right now. I'm so sorry." Marnie hated every single word that came out of her mouth. Her heart broke for Jeff, but she knew there was no way she could slip him a loan without Evan finding out and having a fit. He was incredibly cautious with his money and the idea of her spending even a dime more than he'd allocated for her sent him into a tailspin. "I would. I really would if I could," she swore, hoping her sincerity was evident. "But I can't. Evan..."

Jeff nodded. "Right. Say no more. I understand."

"I'm so sorry. I wish there was something that I could do, but he is so..." Ashamed, she lifted a hand to her face. "I am so sorry."

"Hey, it's fine. I'll figure something else out, babe. Don't worry. It'll be just fine."

It was just like him to say something like that, a fact that shamed her more. She couldn't leave it like this. Jeff was one of her closest friends and the idea of him homeless and hungry was unbearable. No one deserved that – least of all someone who was already grieving to begin with.

"Maybe you could talk to Brett. I'm sure he would help you."

Jeff shook his head. "No, I don't think that's a very good idea."

"Why not? It wouldn't hurt to ask and that's what the church is for, really."

He stood. "Uh, no. That's...not a good idea. I mean, I'm not a – I don't even go to church. I haven't been to church since I was seven years old or something."

She rose too. "It doesn't matter. He's not going to care about any of that. Let me just go talk to him."

"No, don't. It's fine. Everything's fine. There's no need to involve anybody else, especially not – "

As if on some divine cue, the door to Brett's office opened before he could finish his sentence. It was Julia who emerged first. "Hey, we are about to leave, so..." She froze for half a second, her eyes wide. "Hello Jeff."

"Hey Jeff," Brett repeated, from behind her. "Wow, you're looking pretty rough. Is everything okay?"

Marnie glanced over at him, silently urging him to speak up. He didn't say a word for what felt like forever, his eyes even wider than Julia's. "Yeah, I'm fine. Everything's fine. I – I was just leaving."

"Jeff," Marnie reminded, "I thought you wanted to talk with the pastor about something."

Brett stepped forward. "Did you wanna talk to me? Come on in. I've got a minute."

Jeff opened his mouth, but no words came out. He backed toward the door, the same way a cornered rat might move in a barn. "Uh, no, that's okay. Thank you, though. I...uh, I need to go."

Before anyone could say anything else, he saw himself out. It was a hasty exit, one which left Marnie feeling about two inches tall. That man was so damned stubborn...then, so was she, because she should have known putting him on the spot like this wouldn't end well.

"What was that about?" Brett asked, from behind her.

Marnie retrieved her purse from the floor and sighed. "It's a long story."

"Uh, Jules, I was talking to you. What was that about?"

Interlude: Wonderful Christmastime

December 25, 1965; 7:15 a.m.

THE TREE LOOKED especially obnoxious this year, Carol noted, as she took another sip of wine. That had a lot to do with the fact Jeff and the children insisted on decorating it themselves. It was a complete mess. The boys fumbled with the ornaments, and broke far more than they actually hung, while Jeff managed to electrocute himself with the lights and teach Mickey and Roger a whole new set of words that would probably get their mouths washed out later, in both English and Welsh. It was clear Jeff wanted her to get caught up in the gooey sentiment of it all, but she was absolutely livid...and she'd been on the warpath ever since.

"The tree looks like shit, Jeff," she reminded, as she watched him crawl on his knees beneath it, distributing presents to the screaming monsters who woke both of them up far too early this morning.

He glanced over at her, with a goofy smile on his face. "Awww, come on now. You need to turn that frown upside down, baby! It's Christmas!"

Her reply was terse, as she took another sip of wine. "Yes, I'm quite aware. Not like you'll let me forget or anything."

He went back to playing Santa Claus. "Who'd wanna forget Christmas? Not me! What about you, Mickey?"

Predictably, the child squealed, "Nope!"

Jeff nodded over at her. "And there you have it."

"You think you're so cute, don't you?" she sneered. Her head was pounding, she was exhausted – this was not at all how she'd envisioned Christmas morning.

He blinked a few times. "Not this morning, okay? It's Christmas."

"I know it's fucking Christmas, Jeff!" she erupted, as she leapt out of her chair. "All I have to do is look at the ridiculous way you've decorated my house to figure that out!"

Everything stopped. The children both sat on the floor, frozen in place, while Jeff glared daggers at her. He offered each of the boys a reassuring pat before launching himself off the floor to stalk toward her. "We need to have a talk."

"You're damned right we need to have a talk!" Carol lifted the glass for another sip of wine, but Jeff ripped it out of her hand, haphazardly spilling deep crimson liquid onto the floor. Her eyes narrowed. "You clumsy son of a bitch, look what you did!"

"No, look what you did." With a tight grip on her arm, he led her into the kitchen and allowed the door to swing closed behind them before continuing, "It's not even eight in the morning and you've already ruined Christmas, so way to go, Carol. Proud of yourself?"

"Oh, spare me your melodramatic bullshit! Christmas was ruined long before this morning, and that had nothing to do with me! It had everything to do with you coming in, taking over everything like you have a damned right – "

"Somebody had to! It's not like you were gonna actually set the bottle down long enough to do something for your kids!"

"My kids," she repeated. "My kids, Jeff! Not yours, not anybody else's, mine! And how I raise them is my own business!"

"I don't care whose kids they are, okay? It doesn't matter – what matters is they deserve a whole lot better than this. Would you just think about your kids for once in your life? Would it kill you to put your own stupid crap aside for a few hours to think about your kids? That's all I ask."

She was so angry her hands were shaking, but she made every effort to keep her voice down. "Why do you have such a vested interest in the Christmas my kids have, anyway? What the hell does it matter to you?" Before he could reply, she held up a hand. "And don't tell me that sad bullshit story about how you were so poor growing up that your mom couldn't afford a Christmas dinner and you had to go scavenge one out of other people's garbage cans. I didn't believe it then and I sure as hell don't now!"

In obvious frustration, he slammed a hand onto the table. In an immediate reaction to the pain, he then jerked it toward his chest, but said nothing of the spectacle. "Damn it, you shouldn't have to ask me why it matters! Can't you tell I love those kids? Can't you tell I love you? Can't you tell I want this to be something that those kids remember for the rest of their lives? This is the first Christmas we're gonna spend as a family and – "

"We are not a family, Jeff," Carol reminded, through clenched teeth. "We are far from a family!"

"But..." He hesitated, shaking out his injured hand before beginning to fumble in his pocket. "But we could be."

"What? What are you..." Before Carol could finish her question, Jeff brandished a small box. "Is that – oh my God, Jeff! You're proposing to me?" She found it impossible to contain her laughter.

He nodded solemnly. "That was the plan, yeah."

"No, no," she laughed. "You don't wanna marry me. Trust me, you do not wanna marry me!"

"Uh, well...actually..."

She looked up at him and in an instant, she could see the hurt in his eyes. "You're actually serious about this, aren't you? Oh my God."

"Look, you don't have to make a decision right now if you don't want to. If you wanna think about it, that's fine too. I'm not going anywhere, so you take your time. But, uh, think about it, okay? Just think about it."

With that, he handed over the box. Carol wasted little time opening it. "Oh, this I've gotta see."

He took a step back, wedging his hands in his pockets. "I hope you like it."

The ring was lovelier than she expected, but a bit on the modest side. It paled in comparison to the one David bought her several years earlier, but she realized she was hardly in a position to be choosy. She snapped the box shut, pointing at him. "I don't care who you stole that from, I'm not giving it back."

"I didn't steal it from anybody. That was – "

"I don't care, I'm not giving it back. If someone comes looking for it, they're not getting it back!"

"So...so that's a yes, then?" There was such hope in his voice and, despite how much she wanted to rip his head off mere seconds before, she found it endearing.

Still, she wasn't about to tell him that. Her shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "It's a maybe. Get on one knee and do this shit right and we'll see."

A loud, rhythmic knock came on the door, immediately followed by the boys sounding the alarm. "Somebody's here!"

"Somebody's here," Jeff repeated.

"Really? I never would have known." Carol turned toward the refrigerator, intent on pouring herself some more wine. "Get rid of them. I don't wanna deal with anybody's merriment this morning."

"But it's..." His hesitation indicated that he once more intended to remind her it was Christmas, but thankfully, thought better of it. "Yeah, okay."

She turned to face him. "And hey – I want you to know I'm not the kind of girl you can just throw a ring at, okay? I have more class than those other whores. You're gonna get on one knee and you're gonna do this right or we're not gonna do it at all. You got that?"

Carol had to admit her slurred words were somewhat ironic. She had more class than the other whores he'd romanced in the past, yet she was tipsy before nine a.m. on Christmas morning. Okay, so she wasn't perfect. Who was?

Jeff didn't say anything to that, only heading back into the living room to presumably brush off their visitor. Carol opened the box to inspect the ring again. Yes, this would do nicely. She didn't want to imagine where he got it, though. If she knew him at all, he probably charmed it right off some stupid bitch's finger. That man could charm a snake. She had to give him that, even if she wanted to strangle him half the time.

Standing there, she pondered what this would mean. Getting married again was something she said she'd never do – and again, if she knew Jeff, he wasn't even sure what the word marriage meant. It was such a big commitment, but then, so was allowing a man into her home and family. She'd taken a big gamble by letting him move in here, especially given his reputation. He'd never been known as Mr. Monogamy, and everyone tried to tell her to watch out, but so far, everything had worked out okay. They weren't without their problems, that was for sure, but they did seem to have a decent amount of trust in one another.

Maybe this would be a good thing. The boys needed a father, she needed a support system and Jeff...well, Jeff needed a lot of things. But this could work. This could actually work.

With a fresh glass of wine, Carol emerged into the living room, just in time to see her younger son unintentionally slap Lance in the face with the Slinky he got for Christmas.

"See? Do you see it?" Roger squeaked, with the enthusiasm that only a three-year old would have for such a silly contraption.

Lance took a moment to respond. "I see it. That's really nice."

"Be honest," Carol implored, as she came closer. "It's the stupidest thing in the world, but he wanted it so what can you do? Merry Christmas, Lance."

"Merry Christmas, Carol. I brought a few things over. For the kids, you know." He motioned to the bags next to the base of the stairs. "Just little things."

She shook her head. "Oh, you didn't have to do that. Thank you."

"No trouble at all. I'm glad to do it."

Carol knew better than to believe that – more than likely, this was Terri's idea. Lance only showed up to take the credit, just like always. "Please tell Terri thank you for me. How is she doing, by the way? She hasn't been returning my calls."

"She's...okay, I guess."

Carol cocked an eyebrow. "You guess? Lance, you live with her. She's either okay or she's not, so which is it?"

Clearly unprepared for her boldness, he started stammering. "I – I don't – I don't know. She won't really talk to me about it. She doesn't wanna talk to anybody, really."

She nodded. "I see. Well, tell her that if she needs anything at all, my door is always open. Same goes for Brett. I don't imagine you know how he's doing either, do you?" She didn't give him a chance to answer. "Well, if you see him before I do, give him my love. Nice of you to come by and thanks for the gifts. Merry Christmas."

In other words, get the hell out. Carol hoped he could take a hint.

Lance stood there for a moment, then nodded and started for the door. "Yeah, same to you."

December 25, 1965; 7:30 a.m.

TERRI LIT A cigarette and pulled Lance's overcoat around her, as she took in an early morning snowfall on the porch. The turkey was in the oven, the house was already cleaned for the company they were expecting later in the day. There wasn't anything left to do but wait. And agonize. And reflect.

She got Lance out of the house for a reason; she could sense a breakdown was coming. She'd been putting it off and pretending nothing was wrong for...ten days now. Yeah. Today made ten days. Ten days that really felt a whole lot more like ten years.

The first few were still somewhat of a blur, what with the condolences and the visitors and the funerals, but the closer Christmas drew, the closer the loss hit to home. Everything about the holiday (once her all-time favorite) just seemed painful and empty this year. Decorating lost all its magic, and she left the majority of it up to Lance. As a result, the tree looked a bit naked and the wreath was crooked, but, she reasoned, it was better than nothing at all.

Wrapping the gifts also proved to be a chore, especially after she found the gift she'd painstakingly picked out for her father. That was another thing she left to Lance, who completed it poorly, at best. Of course, it was sweet he'd even try, since she knew he wasn't gifted with those sorts of things, but she still had to find the end result amusing.

And last night's fiasco of a Christmas Eve service? Oh Lord, it was horrible! The second she walked in, every eye in the place was on her. Those people wouldn't leave her alone! Their eyes were all so sympathetic and their words were so heartfelt and their smiles were so sincere...Terri just couldn't take it. It wasn't like her to walk out of church in the middle of the service, but she couldn't take it anymore. The whole thing made her uncomfortable.

She sighed. They all probably thought she was some ungrateful witch who didn't appreciate their outpouring of support, and that truly wasn't the case. She did and so did Brett, she was sure...but did they have to remind her of it every time they saw her? She knew quite well that her parents were dead. She also knew that it was a horrible tragedy to have to deal with at Christmastime. And yes, she also knew that Christmas would probably never be the same again, as long as she lived. Did she really need these people telling her so? How was that necessary? All it did was make her feel worse.

Standing there, Terri hugged herself. She'd never felt more alone in her life, even though she knew she wasn't. Lance provided as much support as he possibly could, given the fact that he was Lance and all. To his credit, he tried. He just didn't understand, and Terri couldn't expect him to. It was something nobody understood until they went through it – and even then, there were still a host of unanswered questions.

Then there was Brett. Wow. Not that she'd ever doubted it before, but he was so much stronger than people gave him credit for. She couldn't begin to imagine what a nightmare these past ten days had been. As elder child and only son, it was his responsibility to not only identify the bodies (something Terri knew she could never do), but also make all the arrangements and preach the joint funeral of his parents – and he handled it with the same quiet dignity and resolve that he handled everything else.

Terri knew he had to be suffering right now, but as he often did, he put everyone else's needs ahead of his own. He must have called her twelve times a day to make sure she was eating and functioning her way through this. He even put Julia up to it, which was a wonder in and of itself. And every single time, she lied through her teeth and told him everything was okay. It had to be. She wasn't going to burden anyone with this, even the one person who actually understood. Brett was always so attentive and kind and generous. She couldn't be another person who took advantage of that, she just couldn't.

She didn't notice Lance pulling back the driveway until he got out of the car yelling. "What are you doing out here like that? You're gonna get sick!" He rushed toward her, both arms outstretched.

Startled out of her daze, Terri blinked a few times. "I...it's...it's pretty out here, isn't it?"

Okay, that sounded ridiculous. He probably thought she'd lost her mind. Great.

"Well, yeah," Lance drawled, as he took her in his arms. "But I bet it's even prettier from inside. Why don't we go in?"

Without a word, she agreed, following him into the house. "I'm okay," she insisted, after he forced her to have a seat on the sofa and took both her hands in his to warm them up. "I'm really okay, Lance."

"I know you are."

His tone of voice was so patronizing that it infuriated her. She jerked away from him. "I am. I am okay! Stop fussing over me like I'm going to go insane any second! I'm fine! Everything is fine!"

He didn't say anything. All he did was sit there, staring at her. She lifted both hands to her face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to – "

His arm was wrapped around her before she could finish. "It's going to be okay. We are gonna get through this together, just like always."

She wished she could believe that.

December 25, 1965; 9:20 a.m.

"WE REALLY DON'T have to do this, you know," Marnie cautioned, as she gave her boyfriend's gloved hand a squeeze. "In fact, if you don't want to, we can just forget the whole thing."

Evan bit his lip, as though he were considering that. "No, I'm fine. We're spending Christmas together, remember?"

"Well, I do, but I know that sometimes, this sort of thing makes you uncomfortable..." She allowed her voice to trail off, unsure if she should have pointed that out. "I'm sorry."

"What? Don't be sorry, darling. It's fine."

"Are you sure you want to – "

He interrupted her by leaning forward to knock on the door, a smile on his face. "Does that answer your question?"

Despite all the nervous energy buzzing around inside her, Marnie smiled back. "Yes. It does."

Within moments, Julia opened the door. The surprise was evident on her face, but she thankfully said nothing of the fact that this was one of the first times Evan had accompanied Marnie anywhere, much less to the home of a couple he barely knew. "Well! Good morning, Marnie and Evan! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Julia!" Marnie greeted, stepping forward to hug her.

"Come in, both of you! Would you like some coffee?"

Evan appeared to be considering that, too, and looked to Marnie for guidance. "Oh, no thank you," she answered, pulling out of the embrace. "We really can't stay long. We're having lunch with Mother. But I did want to come and wish you and Brett a merry – my word, look at your tree! It's gorgeous! I love it!"

"Thank you! Brett picked it out." Julia leaned toward Marnie, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "He would have you believe he cut it down himself and hauled it home on the back of a truck, but nothing of the sort actually happened."

"Of course not!"

"Actually, my dad was the one who picked out that tree," Brett informed, from the door of the kitchen. He'd yet to change out of his pajamas and Marnie noticed the way he seemed to avoid eye contact with everyone, but he still did his best to smile. "Couple of weeks ago, he brought it over. It's, uh...it's big. That much we can say for it, right?"

Marnie stared at him, unsure what to say. She knew he'd been the subject of many sympathies over the past few days, and she remembered quite well the conversation they had just before church last night. She'd just so happened to drop by the office to pick up something and found him seated on the floor, reading the guest book from the funeral. There was something so different about him – a vulnerability she'd never seen before, and it broke her heart.

She never expected him to talk to her. He never did. Much like Evan, he kept his feelings private, instead focusing on everyone else's concerns. But last night, when it was just the two of them in that office, he told her everything. He told her how lost he was, how confused he was, how angry he was. He told her about the lack of closure and how much it bothered him. He told her he'd spent hours praying and reading the Bible and even embarked on a three-day fast, but nothing brought him any closer to peace. He told her he didn't want to be there, because it didn't feel right spreading a message that he wasn't even sure he believed in anymore.

Marnie moved toward him, but before she could say anything, he motioned to the sofa. "Have a seat, you guys. I'm sorry I'm not dressed. If I'd known you were coming, I probably could have made a better impression. Sorry about that. Evan, how've you been? It's been a while."

Oh yes, Evan. For just a moment, Marnie had forgotten he was there. He loitered near the door and nodded at Brett's question. "I'm fine, I guess. Better question would be how are you? I heard about your parents. I'm sorry, very sorry."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

"How are you feeling?" Marnie asked, coming closer. "Are you...better?"

Brett's silence answered her question far better than his words could – and as if that weren't telling enough, Julia jumped in with some of her patented deflection. "Are you sure you don't want coffee? I just made some, and we can't possibly drink it all. Evan, can I take your coat?"

"Yeah, are you sure you can't stay?" Brett followed her lead. "I know you've got plans, but maybe just a little while."

Marnie nodded. Obviously, he didn't wish to discuss it and she could respect that. She looked to Evan, who'd yet to budge from his spot by the door. Staying was probably the last thing he wanted to do. "We really should be going, I think." Her words were directed to her uncomfortable beau more than anyone else.

Evan's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. "We can do whatever you want to do. I told you, we're spending Christmas together."

She came toward him, her voice low. "Are you okay with staying for a few minutes? You don't look –"

"I'm fine with whatever you want to do," he repeated. "Do you want to stay a while?"

"I do, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Evan leaned toward her. "I have more in common with that guy than I ever thought, and that's not very comfortable," he whispered. "Do you see that look on his face? I know how he feels. I know exactly how he feels and no, that's not comfortable. But do I want to leave? No, because I know you want to stay. You have a good heart, Marnie. Don't ever lose that."

"If you feel like it's too much, tell me. I know how you feel about this sort of thing."

"I'll be fine. As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

"I think I will have some coffee, thank you," Marnie resolved, over her shoulder. "Evan, how about you?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "Sure. Why not?"

December 25, 1965; 12:45 p.m.

FINALLY. MOTHERFUCKING FINALLY.

It took three hours, but somebody fucking stopped. Peace on earth, goodwill toward men – all of that festive holiday bullshit finally prevailed. Thank you, Holy Mother.

His chariot out of this hellhole was a twenty-year old truck, and it had seen better days. The paint job was badly rusted, and there were more scratches and dents than he could count. The driver, who'd likely owned this piece of junk since Roosevelt was still in office, was equally run down. If forced to count, he would've estimated the guy had three teeth in his whole mouth, but God bless him, he didn't let that stop him from smiling. "Merry Christmas! How are you doing?"

Oh for Christ's sake, not small talk. Small talk was the worst thing to happen to this society since...well, since society itself. Why did people ask stuff like that? It wasn't as though they actually gave a damn. "Doing just fine, thanks."

"Where you headed? Going home to your family?"

"Uh...yeah. Sure am."

"Well, hop on in." The driver leaned over to open the door. "I'm not going too far. Hope Haven Park is in the right direction."

He climbed into the truck. "Haven Park, huh? Where's that?"

"Oh, about forty miles from here. Just before you get to Laramie."

"Oh. Laramie. Great. Yeah. Great."

The toothless man smiled over at him, and it became painfully obvious how he got that way: there was a piece of snuff wedged between his gum and lip. "Going to Laramie?"

"Yeah. I have...an aunt. An aunt who lives in Laramie." He pondered his words for a moment. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it wasn't quite the truth either. In all honesty, he had no idea if he had an aunt in Laramie or not. Given the way his family scattered out in all directions over the years, he could have one in Ethiopia by now.

"I'm Jim. What's your name, son?"

The driver's question jolted him out of his moment of reflection and he extended a hand, momentarily oblivious to the fact his fresh track marks were visible. "Uh...Lucas. Lucas Brady."

Interlude: Fireworks (part one)

July 4, 1966; 12:15 p.m.

IT WAS MERE coincidence that brought Marnie to Hazel's Diner. She was looking to get out of the office for a while, and this was the only place that was open today. The last thing she expected, or wanted, to see was Carol glaring daggers at her from the moment she walked in. The hateful shrew appeared to be alone, and Marnie's entrance into the dining area seemed to capture her full attention.

Carol's eyes burned, the contempt written all over her face, as she watched Marnie walk past. Even the most casual of observers could tell by glancing over at her that she was dying to say something, but for once, she managed to keep her mouth shut. Instead, she moved to the other side of the booth, taking what Marnie surmised must've been Terri's vacated seat, to watch her more intently as she awaited service.

Though it was a tall order, Marnie ignored her rabid audience, deliberating over the menu, greeting the waitress (a new member of the church) and trying her best to clear her mind. That moment was short lived, however, as she looked up to find Carol once again glowering at her. A deep blush crept over her, and all of her inner resolve went out the window. Before she could take a moment to think about what she was doing, she'd marched over to Carol's booth, intent on pleading Jeff's case.

Carol attempted a smile, though her eyes were far from sincere. "Well, well, Margaret. What a surprise to see you."

"I want to talk to you," Marnie began, in a hushed tone. She was determined to be as classy and dignified about this as possible, despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to slap that smug, satisfied grin right off Carol's ugly face.

Carol's eyes widened, in a ridiculous display of overblown surprise. "This is quite a come down for you. Dining with the common folk and all."

Marnie invited herself to have a seat on the other side of the booth, clearing her throat. "I want to talk to you about Jeff."

"Really now? And why am I not surprised?" Carol's smile faded, and her true colors came out in an instant. She held up a freshly manicured hand. "Listen, Barbie. Before you go any further, I should probably tell you I'm already onto you, okay? I know exactly what you're up to, and I have from day one." She observed Marnie's reaction, then snorted in disgust. "Don't act so surprised, sweetheart! You didn't think you were actually being subtle about it, did you?"

"I will have you know..." Marnie took a look around, squared her shoulders and consciously lowered her voice. She could not fall for this and lose her cool. "You don't know the first thing about me, nor could you possibly know what I'm up to! You would be well advised to keep the snap judgments to yourself."

"You're not fooling me or anybody else with this innocent routine, you know. I know way more about you than you think I do. In fact, I already know everything you're going to say. You're going to intrude on my lunch to tell me you've spoken to Jeff and he's so upset, and I'm so cruel, and I have got to start treating him better!" Carol seemed oblivious to the fact she could be heard across the diner, and unfortunately for Marnie, she was far from done. "Oh, yes, I've got to start treating him right, cooking for him, worshipping the very ground he walks on, every minute of every day! Or else, he might walk out on me! He might leave me for – oh, I don't know – maybe you, Margaret! Oh, wouldn't that just be a shame?"

Marnie's eyes narrowed, her hands shaking with rage. "Just what do you think you're implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, sweetie. Just stating the facts." A triumphant smile painted across Carol's face as she spoke. "I told you I was onto you! But really – really, Margaret. Do you honestly believe that? Do you really believe he would walk out on me and my kids – kids that he adores, by the way – for you?"

"What? Of course I don't! That's ludicrous!"

Carol studied Marnie's expression, delight evident in her eyes. "Oh my. Oh my, my. You really do, don't you?"

Marnie's mind raced in a million different directions. She had no idea where to even begin to refute that, or if doing so was even worth it. Still, she heard herself dramatically maintain, "This has nothing to do with Jeff leaving you for me or anyone else!"

"What a stupid little girl you are! Don't you realize you're the very last thing on his mind? He's using you, dear – much like he's using me, and much like he's already used up and spit out everyone who ever gave a damn in this town. Men don't change, Margaret. Especially not that one."

For what felt like an eternity, Marnie remained silent. She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she wanted no part of them. No way could she give this vile, hateful witch the satisfaction. "I have my hands full with my own husband, thank you! There's no reason for me to have any interest in yours!"

Carol raised an eyebrow. "Margaret. Don't bullshit me, honey. You and I both know that Jeff's a charmer. He brings you lunch – lunch he bought with my money, I might add! He tells you his problems. He tells you what a bitch I am, how much of a drunk I am, how much he wants to leave me...but he never will. Are you listening to me? I want to make sure you understand this. He never will! He's leading you on!"

With nary a parting shot, Marnie rose to leave, unable to bear one more unfounded allegation. She could hear Carol's laughter from behind her, and it hastened her escape back to the booth. What a disaster.

Carol, grabbing one last chance to make a fool of herself, cleared her throat loudly and announced, "He's sleeping with Julia."

As much as she knew better, as much as she tried to convince herself not to fall for it, Marnie still whirled around to face her. "What did you just say?"

"I said, he is sleeping with Julia." Coolly, Carol raised her coffee cup to her lips. "I take it he didn't tell you about that."

Marnie marched back, an irate finger pointed in Carol's direction. "All right, you wanted a reaction? Well, you've got one! That is absurd! Julia? What in the world are you talking about? Julia would never dream of doing something like that!"

Carol laughed in her face. "You've got shredded wheat between your ears, don't you? You just believe everything everyone tells you. Well, people do lie, Margaret, and you better wise up. You're getting played like a fiddle by both of those fools, and it's high time someone had the balls to tell you so." She paused, eyeing her up and down. "And you have the balls to put a stop to it. I'm only trying to warn you. Call it...friendly concern."

"We are not friends!" Marnie informed, through clenched teeth. "I'm not listening to any more of your nonsense, but for the record, no one is playing me! I know Jeff, just like I know Julia, and neither one of them would ever do such a thing. Julia is – "

"A cheap whore." Carol finished her sentence matter-of-factly. "She's nothing but a cheap whore. And I doubt you know her as well as you think you do, or you would've known that by now."

As a tear burned its way down her cheek, Marnie wiped it away. No! She could not do this. She could not sink down to this woman's level, and she could not say something she might eventually regret. "I am not having this conversation with you!"

Carol shrugged. "Hey, you're the one who brought it up, cupcake."

Marnie, summoning what remained of her dignity, turned and walked back to her table. Acutely aware that she had the attention of the entire diner, she lifted the menu to shield her face. She had to calm down. It was silly to be this upset over something that Carol Mathison (of all people) had to say, but she couldn't believe she'd spew such hateful, unfounded things. Jeff was a good man, and despite all of his various faults and shortcomings, he loved that woman! He would never dream of cheating on her, especially not with Julia!

As for Julia, she was a very close friend; one of Marnie's closest. Over the years, they'd shared a great many a secret. They could tell each other anything, and nothing was taboo. And never before (not even one time) had the subject of Jeff Howard even come up! Never! When it came to relationships and romance and feelings and yes, even sex, the only man Julia ever talked about was her husband. Only a fool would dare to call her integrity into question!

Marnie shook her head, as though doing so could shake off Carol's disgusting allegations. No doubt, this was another one of her desperate bids for attention...and Jeff was going to hear about it.

July 4, 1966; 1 p.m.

"SO GUESS WHO I ran into last night?" Shane had a wicked grin on his face, propping a foot up on the desk so he could lean back in his metal folding chair. "You should get a kick out of this."

Brett did his best to sound interested, though he was far more concerned with how many checks he needed to write this month – and to who. "Who's that?"

"Peggy."

At once, Brett could see why Shane was so amused. "Good old Peggy, huh? She finally found you."

"Well, it was more like I didn't manage to get away this time. She saw me walk in and she just...converged, in the blink of an eye. She didn't even have the decency to warn me. I looked up and there she was, right in my face, just like always."

"You speak of her with such love. Is it any wonder you two didn't work out?"

Shane ignored the sarcasm. "And you know how much she talks. She just talked and talked and talked about herself and how she's still single and I was inching closer to the door the whole time. She wanted me to have a drink with her. I think she probably wanted more than that."

Brett picked up the light bill and pretended to give it his full attention, all the while carefully gauging Shane for a reaction. "What a shame that she's still single."

"Well, it doesn't surprise me!"

"Oh, come on. She's a nice girl. Just a little...strange. And possessive."

"And jealous and controlling and dramatic and immature..." Shane continued to rattle off her less-than-positive attributes.

"Point taken. But you know...still a nice girl, all in all."

Shane pointed across the desk at him. "You're starting to sound like Julia!"

"No I'm not! I'm just saying, she's a nice enough girl."

"Oh, I know what you're saying," Shane shot back, laughing. "You're saying, 'Marry her, because she might be your last chance.'"

"I would never tell you that," Brett swore.

"You're right; you'd only think it."

Before Brett could argue that, the phone on his desk rang. "That's probably Peggy calling now. 'Is Shane there? Is Shane there now? What about now?'"

"Please, don't even joke about that. That was horrible!"

"Such is love." Brett smiled. Tormenting Shane about his crazy ex-girlfriends was always a highlight of his day, especially when they provided as much fodder as Peggy did. That girl was the stuff of legend. From her jealous rages to her irritating compulsion to keep tabs on Shane's every movement, she was a veritable goldmine of humor. He reached for the phone with a satisfied sigh. "First Baptist, this is Brett."

Lance didn't bother with formalities, pleasantries or anything of that nature, only demanding, Have you seen Terri? as soon as his brother-in-law answered the phone.

And just like that, Brett's good mood was gone. It took all he had to suppress a groan, and the greeting seemed to stick somewhere in the back of his throat. "Good afternoon to you too, Lance."

He seemed to take great offense to that, his voice rising with every syllable. "Well, excuse me for not dropping to my knees to give you the utmost respect that you so obviously deserve, Pastor!"

"I just – wow. You...you don't have to..." Brett realized that stammering wasn't the best response, but once again, Lance had reduced him to it. He was impossible to talk to, because he was always on the defensive. You couldn't say good morning to the guy without him accusing you of being crazy, making fun of him or somehow wishing him ill will. His paranoia was also the stuff of legend, and to be honest, Brett was sick of tiptoeing around it all the time.

"Look," Lance continued, irate, "I don't have time for your bullshit or your little smartass attitude today! Have you seen her, yes or fucking no?"

"I guess that would be a fucking no, then." The second the words escaped Brett's lips, he regretted them. He hadn't meant to actually say it. It was just the first thing that came to mind, primarily to show Lance how silly it was to phrase something that way...and now he was the one who looked the fool. "Wow, I really misspoke there."

Lance refused to listen. "Nice. Very nice. Good to know you find all of this so humorous. I'm glad my life and my marriage can provide you with such comedic fodder, Pastor. Life well spent, if you ask me."

"I really misspoke there and I shouldn't have and I'm sorry. I can assure you I don't find anything about this funny." It was true.

"Sure you don't."

"Is something wrong?"

As per the usual, an innocent question set Lance off, and he started yelling again – so much so, Brett had to temporarily hold the phone away from his ear. He didn't catch everything Lance fired off in his direction, but the last part pretty much summed it up: "Don't you ever fucking patronize me again!"

Brett opted to ignore his tirade, getting to the heart of the matter. "If something's wrong, then tell me what it is, and I'll see if I can track her down. That's the best I can do, sorry. I haven't seen her, I don't know where she is, and no, I don't find any of this funny at all. I'm sorry you seem to think so but – "

"Thanks for nothing." With that, Lance slammed down the phone, but not before uttering a few choice phrases under his breath – curses Brett heard all-too-clearly.

"Wow." Shane surveyed his friend for a moment, then shook his head. "He fucking hates you."

"Yeah, he sure does." Brett reached for the cigarettes Shane had left sitting on the desk. "May I?"

"Be my guest."

"You remember that time when you asked me if I ever got sick of having to be perfect all the time?" Brett lit his cigarette, took a long drag and leaned back in his chair. "Guess this goes to show you that I'm not."

"Well, you know," Shane attempted to reason, "you're only human. And if anybody deserves it, it's that guy. Checking on her again, I take it?"

"Every single day. He's always calling me, yelling and screaming about where's Terri...and I guess some days, it gets to me."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you still handled that better than I would have. I would probably tell him there's a reason she keeps avoiding him." Shane thought for a moment. "He reminds me a lot of Peggy, actually...too bad he's already married. Those two might make a good couple."

While it was clear he'd hoped to lighten the mood with that reference, it didn't help much. Brett leaned forward to massage the crick out of his neck. "I guess I should give him the benefit of the doubt. He's got so much to worry about all the time – it's just his attitude that bugs me."

"What's his beef with you? I never have figured that out."

"Me either. I have no idea. And I've always tried, you know? I've tried to be nice and give him the benefit of the doubt and shrug off his crap, but sometimes...I don't know."

"You're only human," Shane reminded. "And dealing with Lance can make anybody crazy after a while. He's so smug and...snide. I think that's the thing that always stuck out to me about him. I just try to avoid him if I can. Guess that's a little harder when he's married to your sister."

"Yeah." For a moment, Brett played with his cigarette and debated the best way to say it. "Every single day, you know? It gets old. And he just keeps implying I know something or she's told me something and I have no idea what he's talking about, but he won't accept that. He says I'm lying to him, and Jesus wouldn't be very happy with me if He could hear the things coming out of my little smart-assed mouth...which I guess He really wouldn't. But enough is enough."

"He keeps implying she told you something? Like what?"

"If I ask if something's wrong, he'll always say something like, 'Well, I'm sure you already know all about it!' or something to that effect. And then it always comes back to, 'Are you mocking me? You think this is so funny, don't you?' Like I don't have anything better to do than sit around and laugh all day at whatever the hell is wrong with him on that particular day. How would I even know about it? He needs to give me a little credit, you know? He needs to give Terri a little credit, too."

Shane waited for him to finish, then lit a cigarette of his own. "Well, Rev, I hate to sound trite here, but consider the source."

"I know. And I'm crazy to let him get to me...but he just does after a while, you know? The whole thing gives me a headache just thinking about it, so let's not."

"Sure, let's not."

"Let's talk about..." Dramatically, Brett paused. "You. Poor single you."

Shane snickered. "Poor single me's getting along just fine, thanks. I'm telling you, you sound more and more like Julia every single day."

"I'm just concerned about you. Is that so wrong?"

Shane glanced back toward the door. "If you're gonna get started on this, maybe I should be going."

"Right, because you've obviously got your hands full with all the crime in our fair city."

"All in a day's work, right?"

"Would you like me to go do something illegal so you have something to do? Maybe go jaywalking or something?"

"That's nice, but no. Knowing your luck, you'd end up getting hit by a car. And it would probably be driven by Lance."

Laughing, Brett had to agree. "Yeah, probably, but it's a sacrifice I'd be willing to make if it got you out of my office."

"You're in rare form today," Shane noted, with a wry smile. "Lance obviously brings out the best in you."

"Well...gotta take it out on somebody. Might as well be you."

"You shouldn't let him get to you. He's not worth the trouble, you know?"

"Yeah, well, that's a lot easier said than done."

July 4, 1966; 4:30 p.m.

LUCAS WAS BUSY preparing the evening's delivery when the knock came. He rolled his eyes, a defiant middle finger raised to the door. "Where the fuck do you people keep coming from? My God!"

It was a good question. Seemed that despite his desperate desire to keep a low profile, word had somehow gotten out to all the bottom-feeding addicts around here. They came by at all hours, day or night – in the past week, he'd lost count of how many he'd had to chase away – and it was starting to piss him off.

Each one seemed a little more desperate than the last, begging and pleading and bargaining and generally making complete asses of themselves. It was disgusting, but it taught Lucas a lot about the nature of true addiction, as well as provide him a powerful testament to that which he never wanted to be. If he ever became that damned pathetic, he'd just put a bullet in his brain and get it over with. They had no dignity whatsoever, no control of themselves...nothing but the misguided notion that he had anything they could actually afford and would happily hand it over if they just groveled enough.

He didn't have the time for this. He had bigger fish to fry, and a much bigger payday ahead than all of them put together could ever hope to deliver. For a moment, he paused to marvel at his good fortune. Just a few more days, and then, everything he'd ever wanted would finally be his. Everything.

After it became obvious that this particular junkie was persistent, Lucas groaned, leaving his work to go to the door. First, though, he made sure to get a look out the window. The last thing he needed was to open the door, knife at the ready and drugs everywhere, to find a pig standing there. No way. He was never going to make that mistake again.

"You have got to be kidding me," he muttered, peering through the hole in his blinds. "Not you again."

With a sigh and an inner resolve to get this visit over as soon as possible, Lucas cracked the door open just wide enough to see half of Carol's smiling face. "She's not here, okay?"

With that, he attempted to slam the door in her face, but Carol held up a hand to prevent it. She was laughing. "Well, that's not very hospitable of you, Luke! Who said I even came here to see Terri? I came by to see you, if you can believe that."

He couldn't, a fact evidenced by the way he blinked back at her. "Well, you've seen me, so I guess you can leave now."

"Mind if I come in?" Carol didn't wait for a response and shoved the door open, stepping inside. Briefly, she surveyed the living room, then turned back toward him. "Oops. Looks like I've caught you in the middle of something. I'll try to make this quick."

Lucas crossed his arms, the front door still wide open. "Good idea. Now, what the fuck do you want?"

"You've really got to work on those people skills." Carol helped herself to a seat on the sofa. "No wonder you can't get a job."

His eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "What do you want, Carol? I don't have all day."

"Aren't you going to offer me something to drink?" She pulled a long, narrow envelope from her purse and began to fan herself with it. "And close that door. You're letting all the heat in."

"Okay," he resolved, slamming the front door, "you've got two minutes, starting now. What the fuck do you want?"

Carol threw the unsealed envelope at him. It landed at his feet, its contents clearly revealed. Lucas stared down at it, then took a step back. "What the hell is this?"

She cocked her head to the side, a smile appearing on her lips. "What do you think it is?" Before he could ask any questions, or even think about it, she stood, moving toward him. "I've come to make a deal with you. There's almost a thousand dollars there, Luke...and it's all yours, provided you do a very special favor for me."

His eyes widened as he processed what she was saying. Then, he bent to retrieve the envelope from the floor. "Go on."

...to be continued...

###

About the Author:  
Bex Aaron is a writer living in Texas. She has been writing fiction since she was ten years old. This is her first book release, though she's published other serials online before. She enjoys reading and music, as well as classic video games. She is divorced and a big Clippers fan.

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Visit the website http://haven-park.wikia.com/ to learn more about the series. Wiki exclusives include: character biographies, chances to interact with the author and much more.

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Continue the saga with book two, Tangled Webs!
