I shook my head again. It doesn't work that way.
His eyes met mine and I breathed out. I considered that too once, Archer. But… I realized that if I truly believed that, I'd have to believe that my dad deserved to be shot in his own deli, and I know that isn't true. I paused, trying to remember what it felt like to think I was cursed once as well. Bad things don't happen to people because they deserve for them to happen. It just doesn't work that way. It's just… life. And no matter who we are, we have to take the hand we're dealt, crappy though it may be, and try our very best to move forward anyway, to love anyway, to have hope anyway… to have faith that there's a purpose to the journey we're on. I grabbed his hands in mine for a second and then let go so that I could continue. And try to believe that maybe more light shines out of those who have the most cracks.
Archer kept studying me for several beats before he brought his hands up and said, I don't know if I can. I'm trying really hard, but I don't know if I can.
You can, I affirmed, my gestures sweeping to add emphasis. You can.
He paused for a minute before saying, It all looks so messy. He ran one hand over his short hair. I can't make sense of it all–my past, my life, my love for you.
I looked up at him for a minute, watching the emotions cross his face. After a second I brought my hands up. I don't remember a lot about my mom. I shook my head slightly. She passed away from cancer and I was so young when she died. I licked my lips, pausing. But I remember her doing these cross stitches–they're little thread embroidery pictures.
Archer watched my hands, glancing up at my face between words.
Anyway, one time I picked up one of her pieces and it looked awful–all messy, with all these knots and uneven strings hanging everywhere. I could barely make out what the picture was supposed to be. I kept my eyes on Archer, squeezing his hand quickly before bringing my own back up.
But then, my mom came over and took the piece of fabric out of my hands and turned it over–and right there was this masterpiece. I breathed out and smiled. She liked birds. I remember the picture–it was a nest full of babies, the mama bird just returning. I paused, thinking. Sometimes I think of those little pieces of fabric when life feels really messy and difficult to understand. I try to close my eyes and believe that even though I can't see the other side right then, and that the side I'm looking at is ugly and muddled, that there's a masterpiece that's being woven out of all the knots and loose strings. I try to believe that something beautiful can result from something ugly, and that there will come a time when I'll get to see what that is. You helped me see my own picture, Archer. Let me help you see yours.
Archer gazed down at me, but he didn't say anything. He just tugged gently on my arms and dragged me up onto his lap and pulled me in to his body, holding me tightly, his warm breath in the crook of my neck.
We sat that way for several minutes before I whispered in his ear, "I'm so tired. I know it's early, but take me to bed, Archer. Hold me. Let me hold you."
We both stood up and walked to his bedroom where we undressed slowly and got under his sheets. He pulled me close and held me tightly, but didn't attempt to make love to me. He seemed better, but still distant, like he was somewhere lost inside of himself.
"Thank you for telling me your story," I whispered in the dark.
Archer just nodded his head and pulled me closer.
CHAPTER 30
Bree
The next day was the Pelion Police Memorial Parade. I stood in the window of the diner, blearily watching the cars and trucks go by, the people lined up on the sidewalk waving flags. I felt numb, heartsick, achy.
I hadn't slept very well. I'd felt Archer tossing and turning most of the night. When I had asked him in the morning if he couldn't sleep, he had just nodded, not offering more of an explanation.
He hadn't said much as we ate breakfast together and I got ready to head home to get my uniform for work and drop Phoebe off. He seemed lost in thought, still lost inside his own head and yet when I went to leave, he'd pulled me to him tightly.
"Archer, baby, talk to me," I'd said, not caring if it made me late for work.
He had just shaken his head, offering a smile that didn't reach his eyes and told me he'd see me after work and we'd talk some more.
And now I stood at the window, worried. The diner was mostly empty since the whole town was at the parade and so I could lose myself in my thoughts uninterrupted for a few minutes.
I watched the old fashioned police cruisers go by, the crowd cheering louder for the vintage cars, and a bitterness swept through me. Archer should be here. Archer should be at his father's memorial dinner. And he hadn't even been invited at all. What was wrong with this town? Victoria Hale, evil bitch extraordinaire, that's what was wrong with this town. How did someone like her live with herself? She had ruined so many lives–all for what? Money? Prestige? Power? Pride? Just to win?
And now the whole town bowed down to her out of fear of the repercussions.
As I stood there, thinking about everything that Archer had told me last night, my tummy turned and I felt like I was going to vomit. The reality of what it must have been like for a seven year old boy to be there that day was revolting, horrifying. I wanted to go back in time and hold him in my arms, comfort him, make it all go away. But I couldn't and it hurt.
I was snapped out of my thoughts by my phone vibrating in my uniform pocket. I pulled it out quickly and saw that it was a call coming in from Ohio. I walked back to the counter where a couple customers sat and stood off to the side near the break table as I took the call.
"Hello," I said softly.
"Bree, hi, this is Detective McIntyre. I was calling because I have some news."
I glanced back at the counter, noting everyone looked like they had what they needed and turned my back.
I distantly heard the bell over the door ring, but didn't turn. Maggie could take care of new customers until I was done.
"You have news, Detective?"
"Yes. We made an arrest."
I sucked in a breath. "You made an arrest?" I whispered.
"Yes. His name is Jeffrey Perkins. He's the man you identified. We brought him in for questioning and his print matched one we found at the scene. He lawyered up so he's not talking. His father owns a big Fortune Five Hundred company here in town."
I paused, biting my lip. "Jeffrey Perkins?" I asked. "His father is Louis Perkins isn't he?" I asked, closing my eyes, recognizing the last name of the man that owned one of the biggest insurance companies in Cincinnati.
The detective paused. "Yes."
"Why would someone like Jeffrey Perkins come in to rob a small deli?" I asked, feeling numb.
"I wish I could answer that," he said. "My best guess is that it was drug related."
"Hmm," I said, remembering Jeffrey's, shiny, dilated eyes and jitters. He had to have been on something. Rich boy with a bad drug habit? I shivered, shaking my head slightly to bring myself back to the present.
"What happens now, detective?"
"Well, he's out on bail. His arraignment is in a few months so now we just wait for that."
I paused for a minute. "Out on bail. So, more waiting." I sighed.
"I know. It's difficult. But, Bree, we have some really good evidence against him. And with your ID. I'm hopeful here."