Page 22 of Starting Over

King.

If the sheriff was her father, that would make King her uncle. He was the sheriff’s brother. I wondered how the sheriff knew Gaelige, but King didn’t. I let that thought wander as we walked back into the room and Justin closed the doors behind us.

“Why does she call you Micah?” I asked before anyone said a word.

“Because that’s my name.”

“No, it isn’t. Your name is Justin. Kara named you after her father. It would devastate her that you changed your name.”

“My mother didn’t give a shit about me or my name. We were in WITSEC. My name changed so many times I lost count. Micahwas the name Becca knew me by. That was the one I kept. That was the only one that meant anything to me, because of her.”

“Your mother loved you,” I whispered.

“Not enough to protect me.”

I closed my eyes and remembered my friend. We met in grade school. Grew up together. She was my best friend. When Eduardo came around, Kara quickly became obsessed with him. She told me once it was because he wasn’t Irish. He was mysterious. She didn’t want to marry into the life.

She did it anyway.

And it cost us our friendship.

It cost Kara her family.

In the end, it cost Kara her life.

“What happened to her?” I asked, refusing to open my eyes, knowing the tears would fall if I did.

“They killed her.”

My shoulders dropped, and I couldn’t contain my grief any longer. I let the tears fall.

For my friend.

For her family.

For the little boy I once knew, who now sat before me a man.

“She was my best friend.”

“Then why didn’t you help her?”

I looked up at the angry eyes of the sheriff. His words pierced my heart.

“How dare you? You have no idea what my life has been like.”

Turning back to Justin, I smiled warmly.

A real smile.

“I remember you. You were such a sweet little boy. Kara and I used to dream about you and Colleen growing up, falling in love, and getting married. Then we could be grandmothers together. Sharing our grandchildren, not competing against each other for their attention.”

“Colleen is your daughter?” King asked, placing his hand on my shoulder. I hadn’t realized he had moved beside me. The sheriff growled, and I figured he wasn’t too happy about me wishing this man was with someone other than his daughter.

“Yes. She is about eight months older than Justin.”

“I don’t remember her. I don’t remember you,” he admitted.

“No, you wouldn’t. You were barely two years old when your family disappeared.” I needed to ask the hard question. I needed to know what happened. “How did she die? Did she suffer?”

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