It was rounded, drywalled, textured and painted. Feeling like a zombie, she walked down the hall to the archway. Stood and stared.
The room was finished. The porcelain tile she’d picked out for the floor was laid and grouted exactly as she’d pictured it, only better. Her furniture had been delivered. It wasn’t arranged exactly as she’d planned, but it looked good. Inviting.
For what she noticed. Because she couldn’t really focus on flooring or furniture. She couldn’t take her eyes off the far wall. It was supposed to have been painted a sand color. It was windows instead, looking out over a newly planted garden with a rock waterfall. She could see it all, in spite of the darkness outside, because of the landscape lighting that had been installed.
But even that didn’t hold her attention. She couldn’t stop staring at the portion of the wall above the windows.
It was a mural of an exquisite sunset. And in the rays of the setting sun there were three cloud-like forms—a tall, broad one, another that was a little shorter and more slender and then a tiny one. The tiny one seemed to be reaching toward the slender one. She knew she was just imagining the figures in the clouds. But every time she looked back, there they were.
She’d been standing there five minutes or more before she saw the envelope on the table. She recognized Jem’s business logo where the return address should be.
A final bill?
It was so like him to finish the job he’d agreed to do. To finish his business, leave the key and go silently on his way. He also wasn’t one to make waves. Unless you counted the ones painted beneath her sunset...
She wasn’t going to open the envelope. Didn’t want to spoil the moment with an accounting of cost owed. But she’d also never been one to avoid hard tasks. She was who she was. So she picked up the envelope and pulled out the pages inside.
And fell down to the couch.
The stop sheet was official all the way. A restraining order. Against Tressa Bridges. Protected persons were Jeremiah and Levi Bridges.
The second sheet was official, too. A police report delineating all threats against Lacey. As well as a timeline of how she’d come to be in the lives of Jem and Levi Bridges.
The third sheet... She could barely make it out through the tears blurring her vision.
It was a single piece of plain white paper, with childish scrawl in awkward, uneven letters. She made out the word Levi.
The fourth page was easier to read...if she could just quit crying long enough.
I am a victim of domestic violence. I have spent the past ten years being manipulated, attacked and humiliated by my ex-wife. I am not proud of that fact. I am told I will have residual effects of this circumstance. I am also told that recognition and acknowledgment is the biggest part of my battle. Apparently I managed to be a survivor before I knew I was a victim.
I credit my parents and my son, Levi, for that.
Recently I found the love of my life. I couldn’t believe in my luck at first. I was truly happy for the first time in my adult life. I felt complete. Hopeful for the future. And weighted down by the albatross I carried around my neck.
The albatross has been captured. Restrained. And my love...it’s overflowing, like the water over the rocks outside your window. I am the water. You are my rock.
If you have an interest in feeling my touch flowing across you for the rest of your life, please call. If not, know that I love you first. Last. Always.
Jem.
She was crying so hard she could hardly find her purse in the kitchen. Or find her phone in her purse. Stumbling back to her dream room, she tried to see enough to touch Jem’s picture in her speed dial widget.
Blinking away tears, she sniffled, looked outside at the fountain...and blinked some more. She couldn’t see his picture on her phone, but she could see him outside. Him and Levi, too, pressing against the window.
“Jem?” she yelled loudly and dropped her phone.
“Lacey’s home!” Levi’s voice was strong and sure. “She’s back, Dad. Look!”
She was probably dreaming, but she ran for the new sliding glass door she’d never seen before that night and pulled on the handle.
It didn’t budge.
“Flip the latch.” Jem’s muffled voice came through the door.
She couldn’t find the latch, so she pushed against the black metal frame, then pulled the door. She even pounded on it for a second.
Then her gaze met Jem’s. She calmed. He stared at her, and a smile broke out all over his face. And hers, too. He pointed down, where she saw the thin piece of metal sticking out from the handle, and she pushed it down with one finger.