This Time Forever Read online

  “I’m sure he is,” Rebekka said dryly, understanding the hint. “So when do you want me to come?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  “What about Saturday? I already know what I’m taking, and I’ve given notice at the Embassy.” Since it was Wednesday now, that would mean she wouldn’t have to elude Marc again at church on Sunday.

  “Perfect! I’m so excited.”

  Rebekka laughed with delight at Brionney’s exuberance. “Me, too.” And she was.

  “Look, Damon has a service he uses to book flights. Since they’re doing our flights, I’ll call them up and let them worry about getting you on the same ones we’ll be using. They’ll let you know about your ticket, and I’ll be at the airport to pick you up.”

  “Good.” Rebekka paused. In the background, she could hear one of Brionney’s twins babbling something at the top of his baby voice. “Thanks, Bri,” she said. “I owe you one.”

  Brionney laughed. “Just wait till we’re on that airplane with the kids. Then we’ll see who owes who!”

  Rebekka hung up, smiling. What would she do without a friend to help her through this time? Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She would not cry for Marc.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wednesday and Thursday passed by like a dream. Mickelle could hardly believe the change in her life now that she no longer gave Riley—or anyone else—the power to control or hurt her. At times, when Riley would do some small spiteful thing, she felt herself slipping back into the crevasse of fear and hurt, but each time she prayed hard and schooled herself not to show Riley her true feelings. Before long, her contentedness was unfeigned. Then it was with some amusement that she watched him flounder with questions, accusations, and finally with apologies. He never again asked her if she wanted a divorce, already knowing the answer. Between his episodes of suspicion, he treated her well enough.

  Riley had even agreed to attend counseling, although he insisted that he didn’t need it. “I need it,” she told him, “and that should be reason enough.” He hadn’t agreed on a date to start the sessions, and he complained about the money they would spend, but Mickelle was content with the baby steps they had taken.

  The boys noticed the difference in their father and had adopted the same attitude as Mickelle. If their father yelled at them or said something hurtful, they didn’t cry or rebel, but left him alone to calm down. Riley didn’t seem to know what to do about the change, but Mickelle felt as though a load had been lifted from her shoulders.

  Thursday night, they once again played soccer as a family and had a wonderful time. Only Riley’s determination to win marred the evening, but not enough to spoil the game. Mickelle scored the winning goal for her team, consisting of her and Bryan, and in frustration and anger, Riley kicked the ball over the yard’s ancient wood fence. Jeremy happily retrieved the ball, and everyone pretended nothing had happened. Mickelle busied herself eating one of the ice cream sandwiches Bryan had brought from the freezer, giving Riley time to deal with his emotions.

  He apologized to her later when they were alone. Then he added, “Maybe we really should make an appointment to see a counselor.”

  “When?”

  He smiled. “Soon. I need to think about it some more.”

  Mickelle suspected he had ulterior motives for bringing this up, but she felt so happy with the progress he was making that she didn’t argue. Instead, she put her arms around him and let him kiss her.

  * * * * *

  On Friday morning, Mickelle hugged and kissed Riley, who was more subdued than usual. After he left for work, she helped the boys off to school, then showered quickly and hurried outside to the Snail, anxious to keep her appointment with a financial counselor at Utah Valley University. The May morning was warm, and the scent of flowers wafted in the air. Mickelle didn’t even mind driving the Snail or the pitying looks she garnered from the young students in the parking lot. Life was good, and the car she drove had no bearing on who she was or would become.

  After waiting half an hour, she was ushered into an office cubicle by a dark-haired girl almost young enough to be her daughter. The girl flashed her a smile. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, but I have good news. I think we’ll be able to get you some funding. You will have to maintain a certain number of credits, though.”

  When Mickelle left, she carried in her hands a short stack of financial aid forms to fill out and submit. Now she wouldn’t need Riley’s money to get her through college. She still craved his support but felt confident that he would eventually come around. With a smile, she thought of the soccer game. Maybe one day her husband would even learn to be a gracious loser.

  She decided to stop by the store and pick up pork chops to make Riley’s favorite meal. Perhaps she would tell him tonight about the possibility of a new baby. She was only a week late, and while that was not an unusual occurrence, this time she felt hopeful. Thank you, Father, she prayed. I am so grateful for all my blessings.

  She went to Macey’s and decided to eat an early lunch at their snack bar. It wasn’t often she treated herself to even such an inexpensive meal. By the time she had finished her hoagie sandwich and diet 7-Up and completed her shopping, it was nearly noon.

  She could see nothing unusual about her house when she pulled into the driveway, but the kitchen door was unlocked, and at once uneasiness sprang to her heart.

  “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone there?” She took a few tentative steps into the kitchen. “Riley? Bryan? Jeremy?”

  No answer.

  Mickelle lowered her single bag of groceries onto the small table. There was nothing out of place. “I must have forgotten to lock the door,” she said aloud to dispel her sudden fear. “Good thing we live in a decent area.”

  Humming to herself, she put away the groceries. Then she did the breakfast dishes and swept the floor. “Now for a little gardening.” She left the kitchen and started down the narrow hallway toward her room, where she planned to change her clothes. But something glimpsed from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning, she spied the crystal rose that had once graced her wedding cake. It lay on the tan shag carpet outside the living room, smashed into pieces.

  She gasped. “What? Who?”

  Fear seized her heart and held her in its icy grip. Instinctively, her hand went to her abdomen, as though to protect her unborn daughter.

  It was an accident, she told herself calmly. One of the boys got it out and dropped it. I just didn’t notice it before. They’d been warned countless times not to touch her collection.

  She walked slowly to the living room, her heart pounding as she listened for intruders. Bending down, she began to gather the scattered pieces of her precious crystal rose. Another step brought her in full view of the living room, and when she saw the destruction there, she nearly stopped breathing. “Oh, my . . .” She stood frozen with horror.

  Her curio cabinet had been tipped over onto the television, which in turn had fallen onto the floor, crushed into ruin. Pieces of glass from the cabinet and the TV were scattered across the room, and Mickelle’s carefully collected roses lay in a broken jumble inside the damaged cabinet. A few were spread out on the floor, including the red porcelain Capodimonte rose Riley had given her for their first anniversary. Unlike many of the others that had escaped damage or were broken only in one or two places, this rose looked as though someone had crushed it under the heel of a sturdy shoe and ground it into the carpet.

  With a hand to her mouth, Mickelle gave a stifled cry of outrage. What had happened here? Fury filled her and she left the room, searching for a culprit, unmindful of any possible danger to herself. But the house was empty. Even the basement revealed no sign of intrusion.

  Who would do such a terrible thing? A suspicion formed in her heart, but she didn’t give voice to it. Instead, she searched sorrowfully through the remains of her rose collection to find anything that could be saved. When she had removed all of the pieces from the cabinet, she str
uggled to right it. Tears rolled down her cheeks when she saw that not only was the glass shattered, but one of the solid wood side panels had cracked and been severely gouged from its fall onto the television set.

  It was someone I know, she thought. Someone with a key. This realization made the destruction more disturbing.

  There were about fifteen salvageable roses, made of stronger material than the rest. These she gathered onto the couch before finding a box and placing the other pieces inside. Thoughts of revenge filled her mind, blocking out the feelings of betrayal in her heart.

  The one material thing I cherish! How dare he! She didn’t name the “he,” not yet. It was still possible that she was mistaken. Oh, please let me be wrong!

  She nearly jumped when the phone rang. It was Monte Williams, Riley’s boss. “Is Riley sick?” he asked.

  Mickelle felt her spirits sink even further. “No,” she said, her throat suddenly dry, her voice croaking. “He’s not here. He left for work on time this morning.” She drew in a quick breath. “I hope there hasn’t been an accident.”

  But she almost hoped there had been. A man in a car accident couldn’t be responsible for the wanton destruction of her roses.

  “Nobody’s seen him here,” Monte said. “His time card hasn’t been punched.”

  “Thank you for calling. I’ll look for him.”

  “If you find him, tell him to get in here or he’ll be looking for another job.”

  Mickelle hung up on the man without further comment. No wonder Riley hated the guy!

  She stared at the living room without seeing anything. I must call the hospitals. Maybe the police. Then another, more chilling idea came to her. She searched the house again, beginning in her room. Uncertain what she was looking for, she examined everything thoroughly. In the clothes closet she shared with Riley, she found it.

  The metal box was empty, gaping as though the opening was a mouth laughing at her, mocking her. Normally it was locked by a key Riley carried with him to prevent the boys from accessing what was inside.

  Mickelle gulped. She bit her quivering lip. Why would Riley need a gun?

  She remembered a comment he had made when Monte had given Greg the California promotion: “I’m so angry I could—I could kill him!”

  Had Riley taken leave of his senses? He’d apparently returned to the house for the gun, but would he use it? Fear crept through Mickelle, permeating every part of her body. She began to tremble.

  What if Riley’s target wasn’t his boss?

  “You’re overreacting,” she told herself.

  She paced, not knowing what to do. Please, God, she prayed over and over, not daring to voice her fears. When the doorbell rang, Mickelle jumped as she had at the sound of the telephone.

  Two police officers stood on her cement steps. Mickelle stared at them, wide-eyed. She noticed little things: one of the officers, the one in back, had a hand on the black iron railing along the porch; the same officer had a black mole on his left cheek, beneath hazel eyes. The other officer twitched his nose as though he needed to sneeze. “Mrs. Hansen?” he said.

  “Yes. May I help you?” Her voice was remarkably calm, but inside she was screaming, telling them about the missing gun. About her fear that had a name, but not one she was capable of voicing.

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news for you,” said the officer in front. He had bright blue eyes like Jeremy, but dark hair like Riley.

  “My children—”

  “It’s not your children.”

  Mickelle’s fist went to her mouth in utter relief. So tell me! she shouted silently.

  “May we come in?”

  She hesitated. “What’s this about?”

  “Your husband.”

  Wordlessly she backed away from the door, allowing them to enter. She led them from the tiny, narrow entryway into the living room. Their eyes went from the ruined cabinet to the smashed television.

  “I just got home,” she explained lamely. “The cabinet must have fallen over.”

  The policemen glanced briefly at each other. “I think you’d better sit down,” the blue-eyed officer said.

  Mickelle shook her head. “Tell me.” The words weren’t a scream like in her head, but whispered and filled with trepidation.

  “Your husband’s been killed.”

  She sank to the chair that Riley had always used. “No,” she mumbled. “It can’t be.” She looked at them pleadingly.

  “I’m afraid it’s true,” the same officer continued. “We found his truck up the canyon. Apparently . . . witnesses say he drove off a cliff.”

  “But the gun . . .”

  “What do you know about a gun?” the second officer asked.

  Mickelle’s gaze shifted to him, but she could barely see him through the haze of tears filling her eyes. “My husband’s gun is missing. I noticed just before you came.”

  The officer with blue eyes squatted near her seat. “There was a gun found with the body. We believe he intended to kill himself with it. Witnesses say he sat in the truck for a long time before he drove over the edge.”

  Mickelle couldn’t believe it. “He just drove over?” she asked, the numbness spreading through her body. Her face was wet and she was crying, but she didn’t feel the tears or the sobs.

  “Is there anyone we can call?” the second officer said.

  Mickelle stared at him without seeing.

  “Please,” the officer with the blue eyes said. “Do you have any family?”

  “Sisters. My parents.” Mickelle made no move for the phone. Riley had committed suicide. She didn’t doubt the officers for a minute. He had left her. Now she understood about the curio cabinet and Riley’s destruction of her collection. It was his last attempt to hurt her. He wanted to make her suffer for his pain, to punish her for not letting him control her. Misery loves company, she thought. He would be happy to see me now.

  Riley had completely and totally removed himself from her reach—from everyone’s reach. His last stab. His final rebellion. His final triumph.

  What a waste.

  The blue-eyed officer had the phone in his hand, using the preprogrammed numbers in her portable phone. Mickelle put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Things had been going so well between them. There had been an improvement in the last week. She’d actually begun to have hope for their relationship. Even he had seemed happier.

  What had driven him over the edge? Had he seen her dressed up that morning for the interview with the financial counselor and become jealous? Had her words to him about divorce last Monday driven him to despair?

  Mickelle had no concept of how long she sat in Riley’s chair and cried while the officers tried to console her. Then her mother was there and her sisters, and shortly afterwards, her father. Mickelle was wrapped in the cocoon of her family’s love. Eventually her tears abated, and the numbness took over.

  “The boys . . .” she began once.

  “Your dad went to get them,” Irene told her. “Don’t worry about anything. We’re here to help.”

  Mickelle watched, detached, as her family went to work. Talia and Lauren went to arrange things at the funeral home, while Irene called Mickelle’s church leaders, answered the ensuing phone calls, and fielded people who appeared at the door. In between, she cleaned up the broken glass in the living room.

  When the boys arrived, Mickelle saw immediately that her father hadn’t told them what had happened. Jeremy ran to hug her and Bryan stood uncertainly by her chair, his hands clenched together tightly.

  Jeremy’s eyes were huge. “What’s wrong, Mom? Grandpa wouldn’t tell us. But he’s—why’s everyone acting so strange?”

  “I thought you would want to be with them when they heard,” Terrell explained.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Mickelle closed her eyes, feeling new tears escape from beneath the lids. “It’s your father,” she said softly. “He’s dead.”

  Jeremy started crying, but Bryan stared at her, shaki
ng his head. “No,” he said.

  “Yes, he is.” She held her hand out to him, at the same time wrapping an arm around Jeremy. For a moment Bryan hesitated, as though he might run from the room. “Come here,” Mickelle beckoned, and Bryan came into her arms, sobbing loudly.

  Mickelle held her boys, and they all cried together.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rebekka’s family didn’t take the idea of her leaving easily, but in the end they had to agree. “It seems you’ve already made your decision,” Philippe said, seeing the firm set of her jaw, “and I guess it’s up to you. You’re no longer a child.”

  She smiled. “Thanks for noticing.”

  “I wish you weren’t leaving so soon.” Danielle’s eyes watered with unshed tears.

  “Brionney needs me now,” Rebekka answered, knowing that she stretched the truth. “And I need a change, Mother. I really do. It’s not like I’ll be gone forever. I just want to experience America.”

  “If that’s what you need to do, we’ll support you,” Danielle answered, hugging her.

  Philippe nodded, although Rebekka suspected that he would veto her decision if he thought it might make her stay. But her mind was made up, and she was too much like him in her determination to let him sway her.

  Raoul was both the unhappiest and the most supportive about her leaving. “Would you like me to take you to the airport?” he asked with a weak smile.

  She shook her head. “No. But thank you. I’d rather say goodbye here and take a taxi. It’ll be easier for me that way.”

  Her father nodded. Rebekka knew he agreed with her decision not to make a public display of her departure. Danielle was more reluctant, but she honored Rebekka’s wishes.

  Saturday morning finally arrived, and Rebekka bid farewell to her family. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone else, although she gave Raoul a letter to pass on to Marc. She knew her brother planned to go with Marc and André to inspect their new bridge site again that morning. “Don’t give it to him until I’m well in the air,” she instructed.