Adrian hit the remote. “You were perfect!”

“I want to see it. Play it back.”

“Absolutely. But with cookies.”

“And wine.”

“And wine. I love you to bits and pieces, Nonna.”

ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA

On a cold, cloudy night in late December, with the lightest of snows swirling like bits of lace, the poet huddled in the back seat of a shiny blue sedan.

The car alarm, the locks? A simple matter when you did your research.

It had been too long between thrills, but one had to choose carefully. The gun again, though others had felt the blade, the bat. But the gun, the way it lived in the hand when it did its work.

A favorite.

As was this prey.

Hadn’t she proved herself a whore? Wasn’t she even now in that cheap motel room, letting someone not her husband pound into her?

She’d better enjoy it, as it would be the last time she felt anything.

No Happy New Year for you, bitch.

All in black, a shadow, invisible as the whore finally opened the door. Light from the room spilled over her. She blew a kiss to the cheating fuck inside, then smiled all the way to her car.

She hit her fob for the locks—reengaged, slid behind the wheel.

Her eyes widened in the rearview mirror for just an instant, that final instant, before the bullet tore into her brain.

A second shot for good measure. And the now traditional photo.

Only a moment later, an easy stroll through the lightly spinning snow to the car parked three blocks away.

And the thought rang clear and bright.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

In February, Adrian opened the poem. They upset her, always, but this one stole her breath, had her lowering shakily into a chair.

The old woman with her fake red hair’s your latest trick

To preen and pose and make me sick.

Be careful who you use to get ahead,

Or, like you, they’ll end up dead.

 

She reported it, as always, made copies, as always. But this time she contacted the police in Traveler’s Creek.

Then her grandparents. Though it took a lot of doing, she finally convinced them to install an alarm system.

Seven years now, she thought while she paced the apartment and avidly wished Teesha would get home. What kind of person wrote and sent a sick poem to someone every year for seven years?

A sick one, just like the poems, she thought. One who obviously followed her blog, her public life.

“And a coward,” she murmured.

She had to remember that. A coward who wanted her upset and anxious. Though she knew she shouldn’t give whoever it was the satisfaction, she couldn’t rid herself of the upset or anxiety.

Walking to the window, she stared out, watched the cars stream by, the people hurrying along the sidewalks.

“Why don’t you come out?” she muttered. “Wherever you are, whoever you are, come out and we’ll deal face-to-face.”

As she watched, a thin sleet began to fall and the light dimmed. And she knew she could do nothing but wait.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Adrian hadn’t expected an invitation to Raylan’s wedding, and found herself genuinely sorry she had a conflict and couldn’t go. She thought of the blustery night more than a year before when she’d run into him and his Lorilee celebrating their engagement. And she thought of the sweet note Lorilee had sent her with the hand-painted tulips.

Instead of simply marking the card with her regrets, she sat down and followed her grandmother’s tradition of writing a note.

Lorilee,

I’m sure you’re busy with wedding plans, but I wanted to send a note along with my regrets to let you know I wish I could come to your and Raylan’s special day. I’m going to be in Chicago that weekend. I’m sorry I can’t be there to wish you both the very best.

When I met you last year, it struck me just how right you looked together. No doubt Maya will share all the lovely details of the day, and you must know how thrilled she is to be your maid of honor.

You’re becoming part of a wonderful family.

Please give Raylan my congratulations, and take my best wishes for yourself—pretty sure that’s the way it’s done. In any case, I know the two of you will be incredibly happy together.

Enjoy every moment.

All my best,

Adrian

 

When she mailed the note, she had no idea she’d started a friendly correspondence that would last for years.

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK

Even when chaos ruled, which was often, Raylan loved his life.

Most likely he and Lorilee would find themselves in the midst of fixing up the fixer-upper they’d bought in Brooklyn when their kids graduated from college. But despite its many issues, the two-story old brick, with its huge attic and musty basement and squeaky stairs, suited them right down the line.

Maybe they’d been crazy to buy it weeks before their first child came into the world, but they’d both wanted to bring him home—to a home.

And maybe he’d spent too much of his so-called free time in the five years since testing his carpentry skills, improving his painting skills, or learning along with Lorilee how to install tile, but it worked for them.

They’d both wanted to raise their family in a house with a yard, in a neighborhood with character. And since Bradley came along just thirteen months after their I dos, they’d led with optimism and bought the old place.

Two years later, they had Mariah.

They’d agreed to take a short break on making another kid until they’d fixed up more of the house, added at least some to their nest egg. And until the graphic novel publishing company Raylan launched with two friends eased out of the red.

With Bradley in kindergarten, Mariah in preschool, Lorilee teaching art at the high school, and—finally—Triquetra Comics chugging along, they’d decided to give kid number three a go.

He came home after a day of meetings, strategy sessions, scheduling sessions—and the pleasure of working on his next graphic novel—to the familiarity of chaos.

The dog—and the dog was entirely on him, as he’d brought the puppy home the summer before—raced and barked his way around the living room, into the dining room—knocking one of the chairs aside—zipped into the kitchen, where Lorilee stirred something on the stove, then back around again.

Mariah, in one of her many princess costumes, starred wand in hand, gave chase. Meanwhile Bradley popped Nerf balls out of his shooter, aiming at either or both of the runners indiscriminately.

“You’ll be sorry when Jasper chews those up,” Raylan warned his son.

“But it’s fun.” Bradley, flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, with a lightning grin that could melt lead, ran over to grab his father’s legs. “Can we go to Carney’s for ice cream after dinner? Please.”

“Maybe. Pick up your balls, kid. Trust me, you’ll appreciate that advice one day.”

Bradley clung to his legs as Raylan shuffled across the floor, greeted the now leaping Jasper, then scooped up his fairy princess.

“I’m gonna change Jasper into a rabbit.”

Her r’s still came out as w’s, and just melted his heart. He kissed her nose. “Then he’s going to want carrots.”

His messenger bag flapped against his hip as he carried his daughter, dragged his son into the kitchen to kiss his wife.