The Country Guesthouse (Sullivan's Crossing #5)(17)

Sheila took to the public to stir up the outrage and to work to protect innocent children from this kind of trafficking and to make the requirements of convicted pedophiles even stricter, she’d brand their foreheads if she could. She left her law practice and became a full-time advocate. She began getting offers from everywhere, from lobbying groups to commercial television. She made the rounds of talk shows again and spoke to larger and larger audiences.

Owen couldn’t do it. He needed to be alone. He needed to grieve. He didn’t have any problem with Sheila going that route, making her grief not only public but useful. But he couldn’t. He went to his sister’s house in Denver. He walked through the Rockies and other ranges for a year, his camera in his backpack. He talked to Sheila every few days, cried with her, comforted her and took her comfort.

And then one day she said, “You’re not coming back to LA, are you?”

And he had said, “No. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“I understand,” she said. “As long as you don’t blame me.”

“Blame you? God, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine! I was watching him!”

“Here’s what we know,” she said so calmly, so sanely. “The monster who took him knew that all the conditions were perfect—no cars, no pedestrians, no one looking out of windows, a tall hedge, a van. He needed ten seconds or less. And since no one on God’s green earth can promise never to look away for ten seconds, I’m going to do everything in my power to make it harder for the predators. To keep at least a few children from going through this.”

“And a few parents,” he said. He admired her so much. “Please tell me you can forgive me that I can’t go on this crusade with you.”

“Owen, I love you and I’m going to do this with or without you, but understand something—I never thought I had this in me. But I do. And it matters. It can do good things.”

“It matters,” he repeated. “It will do good things. Thank you. I’m proud of you.”

There was one more casualty before life could move forward. Owen’s father, Ben Abrams, died of a heart attack. Brayden had not been gone two years, his remains barely found, and Ben’s heart had been in tatters. From the time Ben’s firstborn grandchild, Brayden, went missing, the victim of a violent crime, Ben had been suffering. His tears had been harder on Owen than his own. Ben had been the sweetest man to ever live; never a temper, rarely a frown. He had been married to his wife for almost forty years and in that time there had been so much love and laughter. Until a monster with no conscience had interrupted their lives.

Owen held his mother tight and said, “Please don’t leave me. I need you. You have to be strong. You have to live. I think one more loss will kill me.”

“We will live, Owen. We will live the way Ben and Brayden would want us to live. We will sleep peacefully knowing that they’re together, waiting for us to join them. And they’ll be happy to wait a long time.”

So it was that twelve years after losing his son, the joy of his life, the great rains and floods of Taiwan kept him home from his trip where he met a pretty and funny woman and her little boy, the boy in leg braces who needed a man and his dog because they were also suffering a terrible loss. It would not be a life-changing event for him—his life was not changeable. But he had a couple of weeks to make their lives a little better.







Love comes to those who still hope
even though they have been disappointed,
to those who still believe even though they
have been betrayed, to those who still love
even though they have been hurt before.

—Author Unknown



4


It was not yet seven when Hannah sat on the porch with a cup of hot coffee and watched as Noah moved across the yard to the barn. She had told him very sternly that Owen and Romeo might not be awake and he was not to knock! No knocking! And he’d said, “Okay. I can be really quiet.” Noah crept up to the door and pressed his ear against it and was completely still. Listening. Then he shouted across the yard, “I think they might be awake in there!” And Hannah laughed so hard she was surprised she didn’t slide off the chair.

Within moments Owen opened the door. He was wearing his sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt and slippers. Yes, old-man slippers, the leather kind that grandfathers on television wore. He held a cup of coffee. Romeo almost knocked Noah over in his happiness to have a visitor.

“Let him take a minute to go to the bathroom, Noah,” Owen said. “He’s probably about to explode.”

“Okay! Romeo, do your business!” Noah raised a crutch and gestured at the yard. As if he understood, Romeo walked out there, sniffing, looking for just the right spot.

“Did you sleep well?” Owen asked.

“I did,” he said. “Hannah said I was worn to a nub.”

“You did have a pretty big day,” Owen said, ruffling his hair. “You ready for another one?”

“Okay. Without the getting knocked in the lake part.”

“I feel ya, buddy,” he said. He walked up onto the porch and smiled at Hannah.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but her eyes were full of glee. “I told him to be very quiet.”

He sat down on the porch chair. “That’s what happens when you make friends with a five-year-old. Did you sleep well?”