Page 15 of The Savior

CHAPTER FIVE

Waking in the Nymans’ guest bedroom felt like a chore, but Liam couldn’t say no when Linda and Frank had asked him and Chelsea to stay late and look through pictures. Eventually, the evening ended, and he was glad he’d stayed. The conversation had taken his mind off the envelope.

Though not for long. After Linda and Frank went to bed and Chelsea took the guest room, Liam bedded down on the couch. Sleep didn’t come, and he’d spent most of the night envisioning the CCTV pictures and wondering where they came from.

Somehow, he’d fallen asleep. Chirping birds warned him that morning had arrived.

Bacon and coffee scented the air, and he scrubbed his eyes. His first thought was the manila envelope and its contents. He had to make calls. Someone would know who delivered the information.

But he didn’t know whom to call first.

Damn.His mind raced and tripped at once, and he dropped his head back. The living room ceiling held no answers, but staring into nothing reminded him that he needed coffee, so he threw off the afghan blanket and stood.

Muffled conversation and happiness trailed from the kitchens as if it was another ordinary day. Maybe it was. Perhaps that was what he’d been struggling to understand over the last twelve months.

Liam rubbed the back of his neck, and laughter rang out again.

Chelsea knew what he knew, or at least what he’d guessed what the pictures and report meant, but he could hear her laughing up a storm with Frank and Linda. It wasn’t that he wanted the world to mourn without end, but they didn’t have to sound so damn happy. He didn’t know how to move forward the way everyone else had seemed able.

He replayed yesterday’s back-and-forth with Chelsea, and his need for coffee doubled. Breakfast might be awkward, but his need for caffeine trumped the need to avoid her.

Liam ran a hand over his chest. Frank loaned him a shirt and jogging pants, and the clothes fit too tight. He adjusted the waistband and pulled at the sleeves, then headed into the kitchen. “Morning.”

Frank, still laughing quietly, let the paper drop. “Fresh pot just finished.”

Chelsea twirled a pen between her fingers, offering nothing more than a polite-but-not-really smile, then turned far too much attention to a fruit smoothie before she jotted a note along the margin of an oversized piece of paper.

The kitchen door that led outside opened and Linda dusted her hands and shut the door with her hip. “Good morning.” Opening a cabinet under the sink and removing a new trash bag, she said, “Your plate is in the oven.”

“Thanks,” Liam mumbled then poured coffee and retrieved the still-warm plate, wondering how long everyone had been awake and how he slept through their noise.

Linda relined the kitchen can. “Did you sleep okay?”

On the couch, next to mystery documents? Not a chance.“I survived.”

Linda gave him a warm smile but then turned to the dishwasher.

He took a seat at the kitchen table and studied the room. Each person acted as though yesterday hadn’t occurred. Their easy chit-chat and normal morning activities rolled along as though it wasn’t the first time they’d been together since the funeral.

Linda leaned against the counter and paged through a cooking magazine. Every few pages, she’d mention how a picture made her hungry. Frank would say something about how he couldn’t wait to try whatever she suggested, then he’d page through the town paper, remarking about the high school team or a new transportation plan, and Linda would agree.

High school football games and a new traffic light?Liam didn’t understand why no one felt like him—out of sorts and lost. Maybe because they weren’t at fault. Realizing that stabbed him in the chest.

“How’s the book going?” Linda asked Chelsea.

“It’s just a mock-up but…” She twirled the pen. “Not good.”

Frank folded the paper and laid it down. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Something’s not right, and no matter what I jot down, it doesn’t help.”

Liam wanted to point out the obvious. Julia wasn’t there—thatwas the problem. He didn’t know what the shit Chelsea was doing with their book mock-up thing, but the answer glared like a neon sign.

“You’ll figure it out.” Linda turned a page in the magazine.

“I thought…” Liam placed his mug on the table loudly enough to grab the room’s attention. “Today would be different.”

“Different how, sweetie?” Linda asked.

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