I was tying the makeshift rope to one leg of the big four-poster when I heard voices outside. I held on to the sheet and edged my way to the window again.
Burtis Chapman’s big black truck was in the backyard almost directly below the balcony. Marcus got out of the passenger side and climbed onto the roof. I watched as he steadied himself, jumped and almost fell into the bed of the truck. He was trying to reach the balcony, I realized. He was coming to get me.
The tears started again and I brushed them away. Marcus got hold of the railing on the fourth try. He pulled himself up and over onto the balcony.
I zippered the top of the cat carrier and put the strap over my head. Then I made a loop in the end of my knotted sheet rope. Holding on to that, I went back to the window. Marcus was looking up at me. I’d never been so glad to see his face.
“You have to jump,” he yelled.
I nodded. The balcony where he was standing seemed like such a long way down. Every part of me was shaking.
Marcus held out his arms. “Hang on to the window ledge,” he shouted. “Swing your legs to the right and let go. I’ll catch you.”
I did the math in my head. It was about fifteen feet from the window ledge to the balcony below. Marcus was over six feet tall. Given my own height, I’d only be about eight inches from his arms.
Eight inches felt like eight feet.
“I’ll catch you,” he shouted. “I swear to God I’ll catch you.”
I heard something collapse behind me in the hallway. A wall, maybe? The stairs?
I was out of time. I shifted the cat carrier around onto my back and grabbed my bedsheet rope. Then I got down on my hands and knees and backed out the open window. My arms could only hold my weight for a few seconds, but that was all I needed. I swung my legs to the left and let go of the makeshift rope.
And fell . . .
Right into Marcus’s waiting arms. I knocked him back against the French doors, but he didn’t let go of me. And I didn’t let go of him.
“You all right?” he said. He felt my arms, touched my face with his fingers. I nodded. I couldn’t seem to find any words.
“We have to get off this balcony,” he said.
Below us Burtis was standing in the bed of his truck. Marcus helped me over the railing.
“You sure you’re okay?” Burtis asked, concern making tight lines around his mouth and eyes.
I nodded. “I’m okay,” I said before another bout of coughing made it impossible to speak.
Maggie was standing by the tailgate of the truck, tears sliding down her face. Burtis helped me down and she wrapped me in a hug.
“I’m okay, Mags,” I said. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Owen made a loud meow of protest.
Maggie let me go, swiped at her face and tried to smile at me but couldn’t quite get there. I pulled the bag over my head and undid the zipper. Owen poked his head out and looked around. His eyes seemed a little loopy, but otherwise he looked okay.
Behind me Marcus jumped down into the bed of the truck. Ric Holm and his partner were coming across the snow to us carrying their first aid gear. I could hear sirens in the distance.
I was still shaking, but I was safe.
I was safe.
27
Olivia was charged with the premeditated murder of Dayna Chapman, as well as two counts of attempted murder and one of arson for the fire at Marsh Farm.
It turned out that Marcus had been at the Chapman place, talking to Burtis, when Maggie called him. Burtis had followed Marcus out to the old house, both of them breaking every speed limit.
Maggie spent the night in my spare bedroom after an afternoon in the ER to make sure we hadn’t inhaled too much smoke. Roma checked Owen over carefully from ears to tail. Aside from a little singed fur, he was fine.
“I didn’t go out there on purpose to confront Olivia,” I told Marcus as we waited at the clinic for Roma to finish her examination.
He put his arm around my shoulders. “I know that,” he said. “Maggie told me.”
“So you’re not angry.”
He kissed the top of my head. “All I am is very, very grateful.”
I leaned my cheek against his arm. “Me too.”
Marcus spent the night on the living room sofa. He showed up with his pillow, his toothbrush, Eric’s meat loaf and mashed potatoes and a look on his face that told me he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
When I woke up in the morning, Maggie was curled up in the big wing chair by the window with Owen snoozing on the floor at her feet.
“Maggie, why aren’t you still asleep?” I asked, sitting up and raking my hands through my hair.
Her expression was serious, lines etched around her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For not sleeping longer?” The back of my throat was dry.
“For not coming back to get you. I keep thinking what would have happened if . . .” She let the end of the sentence trail away, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh, Mags,” I said. “I should be apologizing to you. I’m the one who almost got you killed. The entire staircase was on fire. There was nothing you could have done.”
She gave me a stricken look. “I don’t know what I would have done if anything had happened to you.”
I felt the sting of unshed tears in my eyes and I blinked them back. “Me too,” I said. “But nothing happened that couldn’t be fixed.” I went to get out of bed to hug her, but my legs were tangled in the blankets. I did a crazy flailing dance and fell onto the floor as Owen meowed loudly and bolted into the closet.
When Marcus appeared in the doorway, Maggie and I were on the floor in a heap of sheets and blankets hugging, laughing and crying all at the same time while Owen peered, wide-eyed, around the closet door.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Marcus said. “There’s coffee.”
For some reason that just made Maggie and me laugh harder.
When the two of us went downstairs we found Rebecca and Brady Chapman at the table having coffee with Marcus. Hercules was sitting beside Rebecca’s chair eating what looked like a bowl of scrambled eggs.
I looked at Marcus. “I couldn’t find the cat food,” he said.
Rebecca came around the table and hugged both of us. “I’m so glad you’re both all right,” she said.
“I’m sorry about Marsh Farm,” I said.
She held up a hand and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. All Everett and I care about is that neither one of you . . .” She looked around me to Owen, who was standing in the living room doorway probably wondering why there was were so many people in the kitchen at breakfast. “. . . or you,” she said, smiling at the small gray cat, “are all right.”
Which is why exactly six days later I found myself standing in the living room at Wisteria Hill, which had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Maggie, with a little help from Abigail, had strung white lights around the windows and the fireplace. One of Harry Junior’s trees stood in the corner decorated with the snowflakes that were eventually going to be hung on the library tree and the Christmas ornaments that were usually on Ruby’s personal tree. The mantel was trimmed with pine boughs, red ribbon and fat cream-colored candles inside glass hurricane lamps.
Everett and Rebecca were getting married. After the fire at Marsh Farm Rebecca had told Everett what she really wanted: a simple wedding surrounded by the people she loved the most. Roma offered her living room, where Rebecca and Everett had met for the first time. It was perfect.
Everett’s granddaughter tapped me on the shoulder. “Ready?” Ami asked.
I smiled at her and fingered the small box wrapped in shiny silver paper with a red-and-green bow. “I’m ready,” I said. I nodded at Maggie as we passed her.
Roma was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Like Ami and me, she was carrying a small wrapped present.