214 Palmer Street(73)

She’d been shocked to hear at the trial that Gavin had concocted some kind of alternate scenario in which she was the actual killer. She’d also heard that he planned on appealing the case, but the legal counsel her in-laws hired had said not to worry about it. “His ridiculous story is never going to fly,” was the way Bert relayed it to her.

The fact that her father-in-law was irate on her behalf made her smile.

She sat down cross-legged in front of her son, who was pulling at blades of grass. “Liam Anthony, what are you doing?” She laughed when he showed her the grass clutched in his tiny fist. He was so clearly and irrevocably a Liam it was hard to believe she’d ever considered naming him anything else.

For weeks she’d gone back and forth between any number of names, including Kirk. She tried talking to her growing belly to see if the baby would respond to any one name more than another. She felt foolish doing it, even though she was alone at the time.

In the weeks leading up to his birth, she had a terrible time getting a good night’s rest. The baby seemed to be most active just when she was finally sinking into sleep and all of his in-utero gymnastics only contributed to her constant need to go to the bathroom throughout the night hours. Sometimes she felt lucky to get a solid two hours at a time.

It was during one of her rare deep sleep episodes that she’d had a vivid dream. In it, she walked into the kitchen of her new house and came upon Kirk, who sat at the kitchen table alongside a little boy she instinctively knew was their son. The child, who had to be about four years old, had a pencil in his hand and was concentrating on getting something down on a piece of lined paper. Kirk glanced up and gave her a smile, then returned his attention to their son. “That’s it,” he said encouragingly. “Now you’ve got it. Show Mommy.”

The boy lifted the paper and she saw that he’d printed the words “Liam Anthony” in shaky letters. “Look!” he said in an excited tone. “I wrote my name.”

“Of course you did,” her dream-self exclaimed. “Great job!” She moved closer to Kirk, who looped his arm around her waist. When Sarah woke up, the joy of being a family was with her, and her husband’s touch lingered.

And she knew her son’s name would be Liam Anthony.

After a few minutes, Liam lost interest in the grass, and she decided it was time to leave. Standing up, Sarah brushed a scattering of fine green blades off the front of her shirt. “Time to go home for lunch, Liam.” The promise of food always got his attention. She took his hand and they began to walk toward the parking lot.

They were nearly to the car when they approached an elderly gentleman coming from the opposite direction. A stranger with a friendly smile. “Beautiful day,” he said with a nod, leaning on his cane.

Sarah glanced down at the top of Liam’s head of unruly hair, and the dimpled hand which clutched her fingers, and smiled. “Yes,” she agreed. “It’s a beautiful day.”

*

If you were gripped by 214 Palmer Street and would like to hear about future books by Karen McQuestion, you can sign up to the author’s mailing list. We’ll never share your email address and you can unsubscribe at any time.