Page 11 of Jordan

"You need to get the hell out of there honey." His voice softened. "You know I would be there if I could get away, but it's impossible right now."

"How's the case going?" She decided to change the subject.

"It hit a snag," he said with a sigh. "Witnesses keep disappearing without a trace. I've worked too hard to see this go to hell."

"I know you'll find a way to work it out. Just promise me you'll be careful. You're all I have."

"That's always uppermost in my mind. Get some sleep. I'll call you tomorrow."

"I love you Caleb."

"Love you too."

Hanging up the phone, she knew she had an exceedingly long night ahead of her.

Chapter 4

She couldn't sleep. Damn him for putting ideas in her head andmaking them take root! After twisting and turning for half an hour straight, she decided to give up any pretense of sleeping. A frustrated glance at the clock showed that it was barely two.

Work was out of the question. Her mind was too jumbled for her to concentrate. She had to quell the urge to call and give him a piece of her mind--wake him up from his sleep. It would serve him right. How dare he approach her with such a ludicrous idea? Huffing out a breath, she swung her legs off the bed and reached for the robe.

She would occupy herself by digging through her aunt's stuff. She had to sort out what to dump and what to give to her church as per her request. With that in mind, she headed to her aunt's bedroom. Hesitating at the closed door that led to the bedroom her mother had occupied, she stood there for a minute, fighting the urge to just continue on her way.

Releasing a pent-up breath, she turned the knob slowly and stepped into the darkened room. Switching on the light, she stood there looking around the small space. And it was small; she mused in surprise. Smaller than her office space at her apartment. A tiny room that was always neat as a pin. Leona Simpson had always been neat and tidy. A wave of nostalgia hither as she wandered further inside. The floorboards creaked as she made her way to the twin bed and sat on the edge.

She adjusted her robe and looked around, thinking about all the moments she had shared with her mother in this very room. The lilac scent still lingered, wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Memories flooded back, images of laughter, tears, and whispered secrets. She missed her mother deeply, and being here made that absence even more poignant.

Pushing the melancholy aside, she began to sift through her mother's belongings. She had left everything behind when she came back for the funeral and Caleb had refused to take anything with him. Each item she touched carried a memory or a story. There were old photographs, yellowed with age, depicting family gatherings and holidays. She carefully set aside some of these to keep, knowing they were part of the family's history. Other items, she knew, would be better suited for donation to the church, where they could find new life and purpose.

As she worked, her mind kept drifting back to Caleb's words. It was true, she had been through a lot, and staying here might reignite old wounds. But there was also a part of her that felt a deep connection to this place, despite the pain. She wondered ifmaybe, in confronting these memories and the past, she would find some form of closure or peace.

She spent hours sorting through boxes and drawers, discovering lost treasures and forgotten trinkets. The process was therapeutic, allowing her to focus on the task at hand instead of the turmoil in her mind. By the time she finished, the first light of dawn was creeping through the window, casting a soft glow in the room.

Exhausted but feeling a sense of accomplishment, she decided to take a break and make herself a cup of tea. She headed to the kitchen, where she could finally relax and maybe reflect on what she had uncovered. The house was eerily quiet, the only sound being the distant chirping of early morning birds.

As she waited for the water to boil, she thought about Caleb and his case. She hoped he would find the witnesses and solve the mystery. She knew how much it meant to him, and she admired his dedication and resilience. They were both fighting their own battles, striving for answers and justice in different ways.

Tea in hand, she returned to the living room, curling up in a chair by the window. She gazed out at the rising sun, pondering the choices before her. It was time to make some decisions, even if they were difficult. She would have to face Jordan Wainwright and his proposition and choose the path that was best for her and her family's legacy.

She had carried the diary with her and was afraid to open it. She always knew her mother had one--had seen her penning her thoughts and musings, jotting down things while she sat at her tiny table with the old lamp she had picked up at a garage sale.

It felt like a complete invasion of privacy to read her mother's innermost thoughts, but she felt compelled to do just that.

Taking a deep fortifying sip of her tea, she put the cup away and reached for the tattered blue book with the initials--L.R. Passing a hand over the cover, she felt a jolt going through her and could swear that she could feel her mother's touch and her soft patient voice in her ear.

Blinking back the tears, she firmed her lips and opened them at the first page. She had documented everything. Her fears and doubts, the mistakes she made. The heartbreaks with Caleb's dad and her husband.

"If Carl could only stick to his resolves this time and stay at the job, we would be comfortable. I know he's constantly trying, but it's not good enough and I am so tired--weary to the bone."

Jules stopped reading and leaned back against the cushions, her heart breaking. Her mother had deserved so much in life and had died from utter exhaustion. Shaking off the depression, she forced herself to continue reading. It was more of the same, dotted with sentences, indulgent ones of Julesa and Caleb and how she was praying that they would make something of themselves. "Jules is bright and inquisitive. And already shows signs of being creative. She reads a lot, and I love that about her. Caleb, my son--I know he's very disappointed in me and looking back, I really should have worked up the courage to stand up for him. I hope in time he will learn to forgive me."

She had to stop again and reminded herself to show this to her brother. Leafing through the pages, she was about to skip a notation when a familiar name caught her attention.

"Jacquline Wainwright is a cruel woman and a heartless one at that. She never made me forget that Carl stole from the company. I wanted to leave so many times, but I had an obligation because of what my husband did. The scandal and humiliation is more than I can bear. She reminds me of it every day, rubbing it in my face every chance she gets. I have asked, no begged her to have some pity seeing as Carl is deceased and I am a single mother, struggling to make two ends meet, but she insists on docking my wages every week. She has all this money and not an ounce of compassion. I pray for her, but I cannot be charitable towards someone like that. One day she will get her own."

Her father had stolen from the Wainwrights. Pressing a hand against her chest, she felt the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. And they had made her mother paid for his wrongs, by withholding her hard-earned salary. A decent person would have forgiven the debt or maybe worked out a payment plan, but not them. Those heartless people, that wicked soulless bitch had worked her mother to the bone, trying to exact her pound of flesh. Fury burned inside her chest and threatened to choke her.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady herself. When deep breathing did not do the trick, she closed her eyes and counted to ten. The last sentence came back to her. "One day, she'll get her own."

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