“Yeah.” Frowning, Monty stared up at the ceiling. “And not just because of the compassion I feel for Morgan Winter, or the guilt I’m dealing with knowing I screwed up and let the real killer get away. It’s more selfish and personal than that. This investigation is taking me back to the lowest point in my life—a point I try hard to forget.”
“I know,” Sally acknowledged softly. “But life doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes it just drags us back to the past whether or not we want to go.”
“That much I get. What I don’t get is why I let our family fall apart.”
“Our family didn’t fall apart, Pete. We did. And neither of us let it happen. We made a decision. At that time, we each needed such different things. Our priorities were diametrically opposed. Our relationship was a mess. Ending the marriage was the only answer at the time. But we all survived. You and I even found our way back to each other.”
“That part I’m grateful as hell for.” He blew out a breath. “As for the rest, don’t let me off the hook so easily. It wasn’t quite that simple. Those different priorities existed because I was an idiot. I really believed I could give my all to the force and still be what you and the kids needed. Even after the split, I told myself I could compartmentalize my life and make it all work. It didn’t. And the kids took the major hit.”
“Kids always get hurt the most in a divorce,” Sally agreed. “On the other hand, they also get hurt living in an atmosphere of constant stress and arguing.”
“That’s what the textbooks say.” Monty’s retort was dry. “Who knows if they’re right. In the meantime, I bought the idea that I could be a visiting father and still keep that same tight bond the kids and I always shared. Talk about a farce. Lane couldn’t wait to leave for college. Then he moved to the other side of the country and jumped headfirst into a thrill-a-minute, no-personal-ties career. He’s too goddamned much like me, and I can’t do a thing about it.”
“Pete…”
“Then there’s Devon. She ping-ponged back and forth between you and me, torn with guilt over where her love and her loyalties belonged. And Merry? She hadn’t even started kindergarten. She understood zip about why I left. In her mind, her daddy had abandoned her. She reacted by shutting me out. It’s only now that she’s starting to come around. The whole situation sucked.”
“You’re right. It did,” Sally surprised him by saying. “But not just for the kids. For you. I watched your face every time you brought them home. Living apart from them was killing you.”
Monty swallowed. “I never knew you could miss anyone like that; like a piece of you had been ripped out. I became more of a machine than a human being. I worked, I drank, and I made myself emotionally numb.”
“No, you didn’t.” Sally twisted around to gaze up at him. “First of all, stop making it sound like you abandoned the kids. You didn’t. Your door—and your heart—were always open, whether or not you realized it. As for desensitizing yourself of all feeling, that’s bull. Why do you think you were able to give so much to Morgan Winter? You channeled all that emotional energy you claim not to have had into empathy for her. Look at the good that came out of it. Because of the way you identified with her sense of isolation and loss, she pulled through a tragedy that might otherwise have destroyed her.”
With a disbelieving shake of his head, Monty studied his wife. “How do you do it? After all these years, all we’ve been through, you still manage to find a silver lining in every situation. The way you view life, with such upbeat idealism—it never ceases to amaze me.”
Sally’s eyes twinkled. “That’s why you fell in love with me, remember? You always said I was the perfect counterpart for a cynical cop.”
“Damn straight. I was right. And, at times like these, I need all the idealism I can get.”
All teasing vanished. “You’ll solve the case, Pete. I know you will. Just invest your energy into making that happen. Making peace with the past will come naturally, and in its own time.”
“In other words, fix what’s in my power to fix and leave the rest alone.”
“Don’t leave it, learn from it. Savor what you have, and what you’ve rediscovered.” She bent down, pressed her lips gently to his. “Start by telling me you love me. Then let that overactive mind of yours get some sleep so you can tackle the world in the morning. Think you can manage that?”
He gave her a hard squeeze, then pressed her closer to his side. “Yeah,” he murmured, burying his lips in her hair. “Piece of cake.”
NINE
The problem with the weekend was that it gave Morgan too much time to think.
Saturday morning was spoken for. She had a 9 a.m. session with Dr. Bloom. Then she arrived home to find several messages from her friends, suggesting they get together. But she wasn’t in the mood. Even Jill couldn’t coax her out.
Instead, Morgan spent most of Saturday going through her parents’ things again. She realized she was grasping at straws, but she couldn’t get past the hope that she might stumble on some sort of clue, something that could point them in the right direction.
All she succeeded in doing was driving herself crazy, and triggering waves of nostalgia by poring over old photos.
She finally settled on something positive—her mother’s journal. Reading through it gave her a sense of connection. It also provided insight into the branch of Winshore she was dedicating to her mother’s memory.
A great number of Lara’s entries referred to Healthy Healing, a women’s counseling center not far from the Brooklyn shelter Lara had run. Barbara Stevens, Healthy Healing’s main psychologist and a close colleague of Lara’s, was a name that came up again and again—no surprise, given how closely and often they had worked together.
A lump forming in her throat, Morgan studied her mother’s handwriting—the flowing letters, the achingly familiar use of circles to dot her i’s. There was so much she remembered, yet so much she’d never learn. She’d give anything to know her mother now that she herself was an adult, mature enough to build a friendship with a woman capable of bringing so much richness to life.
Her gaze settled on Barbara’s name, and on impulse, Morgan picked up the phone, punching in Healthy Healing’s phone number. It was Saturday. She’d probably get voice mail, in which case she’d request a weekday appointment.
To her surprise, the receptionist answered and told her that Barbara was in. She asked for Morgan’s name, then offered to put the call through.
Morgan jumped at the opportunity. She repeated her name to the receptionist and asked if Barbara had a few minutes to see her today. She might not be able to solve her parents’ homicides, but she could do something to feel closer to them. And maybe, in the process, she’d pick up a scrap of information that would help the investigation. Maybe her mother had mentioned something to Barbara in those final days, something seemingly innocuous that re