Charlotte, North Carolina, 2008
"What's
going on?" Candace Johnson sat up in the bed and waited. Either the
cellular company had dropped the call or her friend was on the line,
probably twirling a lock of hair, her mind elsewhere. She fired off,
"Pamela, are you still there?"
"I'm
here," Pamela shot back. Her friend let out a deep sigh. "There's a lot
I'm trying to process right now. It's late. Let's talk tomorrow."
Tomorrow.
"You're kidding me, right?" Nothing rattled Pamela Coleman, but only a
few minutes ago Pamela had called with a shaky voice, saying, "We have
to talk." There was no way Pamela could leave the conversation hanging
until the morning.
"I'm tired, Candace. To be quite honest, I may not be thinking straight."
Candace
pulled the covers up closer to her body. It wasn't unusual for them to
talk until the wee hours of the morning, but she knew not to push her
friend. "Where are you, anyway? Are you still at the art gallery
reception this late?"
"No, I'm on my way home."
"All
right, girlfriend. I hope you get a good night's sleep. There will be
no excuses tomorrow. I expect you to spill everything."
"I hope I can. You get some sleep, too."
The dial tone buzzed in her ear for a few seconds before she hung up the cordless phone. Sleep. That's a joke.
Out
of habit, Candace slipped out of the bed and walked over to the window.
She lifted one of the blind slats to peer out onto the street. It had
been over a year and a half since the police department had provided
protection for her family during the night. Now it seemed the police no
longer cared. Other cases took priority, she guessed. Maybe it was all
her imagination, overcome by grief and loss.
Rain
pelted the roof and windows. The kind of rain that could coax a person
into a deep, restful sleep. Candace wished. A full night's sleep had
become a lost luxury, but she would try to close her eyes. As she
climbed under her favorite quilt, uneasiness settled over her mind.
Again. Another long night awaited her.
She
could blame her sleeplessness on the late-night pizza session with the
kids, but she knew better. Even Pamela's ominous call didn't help
matters. It was the past that kept her staring at the ceiling, walking
beside her like a maddening visitor, just hanging around, with no signs
of departure.
Stealing her sleep, her peace.
She
gripped the quilt, hugging it close to her body. Her aunt always said,
"Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Candace didn't care
about being strong. She wanted answers.
She
stared into the darkness, beyond the clock, to where the glow
illuminated a man's features. The photo was barely visible, but Candace
had it memorized. In her mind, she could see Detective Frank Johnson
dressed in his uniform. Though his smile was serious, his deep dimples
still made an appearance.
Almost seventeen years of marriage. Her protector.
Seemed
like everyone these days told her the same thing. "Frank would've
wanted you to move on." How could she? Her Frank believed in justice. In
the end, her husband received none. That haunted her.
She
did need to get herself together. Her children had been through enough.
She didn't need Rachel and Daniel worrying about their mother. More
than anything she wanted them to enjoy their youth. She didn't want them
to experience the pain she struggled through at their age from losing a
parent.
So Candace meditated on the rain, willing her eyes to grow heavy.
Mama!
Her
eyes flew open, and then she smacked the pillow. Even as she resolved
to put the familiar memory out of her mind, questions lingered. Why now?
Almost
thirty years had passed since that night. It seemed like every now and
then Mama decided to visit her in a dream. Images of the beautiful,
troubled woman who birthed her often were like a bittersweet reunion.
But sometimes he would show up, too.
Candace
was no longer afraid of him. She'd made sure to track down his
whereabouts after Frank's death just to be sure her childhood bogeyman
had not returned. She knew he wasn't a threat to her anymore.
Still,
she knew sleep would not come tonight. She refused to close her eyes.
Like that night long ago, it felt like God had stopped by to shake her
around like one of those snow globes.
Where would the pieces of her life fall like those flakes? Candace wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Candace focused her thoughts on the earlier phone call. Pamela, what do you have to tell me tomorrow?
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