Page 42 of Wistful Whispers
Somehow, I feel at peace for the first time since we failed Miranda.
Ma’s words follow me into the quiet.
They don’t haunt—they settle.
Maybe I don’t have to carry this alone.
thirteen
Marcella
Ten Days Later
Tendayssincethesettlement.
I told myself I’d let it go—walk away clean, finish what I came here to do.
Instead, I’m checking the time again.
Seamus is late again.
Not by much. Enough to make me wonder if this was a mistake.
I was so relieved when he finally signed, it brought me one step closer to bringing Caldwell down and giving the Blacks the peace they deserve. Getting him here tonight hasn’t been easy, though.
After he executed the paperwork, I pushed to meet before Caldwell could get to him at the hospital. His lawyer reminded me—more patiently than I probably deserved—Seamus was already drowning in work because of the lawsuit and as an R4, he was mostly in the lab not the OR.
He’s working hard to make sure he doesn’t fall behind before his winter break.
It was a reality check. As much as I need Seamus for this case, he has a whole life and career to worry about.
Of course now, as Ethan, Natalie, and I wait for him in the conference room, my patience and understanding is wearing thin. He was supposed to be here half hour ago.
Meanwhile, we’re going over our notes, prepping questions, and reviewing Caldwell’s deposition. The more I dig into the man, the more I know we’re on the right path. Seamus has firsthand experience to finally pin Caldwell down. Getting him to talk freely might take some finesse.
I check my phone again. No message.
“He better not bail,” Ethan mutters, drumming his fingers on the table.
Natalie glances at me. “You think Caldwell got to him?”
No. I don’t want to believe it. Seamus seems too damned principled to go back on his word. Then again, what if he is having second thoughts?
As the minutes drag on, frustration creeps in.
A text from Seamus finally pops up.
Seamus: Running late. My car battery died. Had to get a jump. Be there in 10.
I exhale sharply and set my phone down. “Seamus is on his way.”
“I really thought he might’ve chickened out.” Ethan leans back in his chair, smirking.
Natalie grins, twirling her pen between her fingers. “It’s nice when a man keeps his word. I like him.”
Something akin to resentfulness gnaws at me. Natalie is only a couple years younger than Seamus, far more age appropriate.
Shut up, Marcella. There’s no competition, you’re not even in the running and you know it.
