Where the Blame Lies(102)

As they stepped onto the porch, Zach’s cell phone could be heard ringing from inside. Jimmy, no doubt, calling to update him on the case they were working. Josie nodded toward the house. “You get that. I’m just going to sit out here for a few minutes and take some weight off my feet.” She offered him a wry smile, lowering her cumbersome body onto the porch swing they’d installed the summer before, right after she’d received her college diploma, fulfilling that long-awaited goal.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Okay. I’ll bring out some iced tea and join you in a minute.”

Josie used her foot to rock the swing slowly, gazing out to the sky, alight now with the fire of sunset. Her thoughts turned to Charles Hartsman as they sometimes did, and she wondered if he was watching the sunset—or perhaps the sunrise—from some distant shore and felt a small fearful pinching in her chest. Another one of those emotions she had learned to breathe through. He wouldn’t be back. She knew that, felt it in her gut. Someday perhaps he’d face justice. For the time being, she had to learn to live with that lack of closure. She’d come to it easier than her husband, which was interesting, but true. My sweet guardian. The man who would save the whole world if he could.

At least Marshall Landish’s name had been cleared, his sister given the peace of his vindication.

She thought of the ways in which humans could be filled with both terrible evil and such enduring love. Unspeakable violence and astonishing gentleness. Blame and grace. Her fingers went unconsciously to the scar she wore on her thigh, the declaration of her guilt. It no longer shamed her. She had been guilty. But not because she was evil or bad. Because she’d been hurt. Because she’d wanted so desperately to be loved, that she’d forsaken her own pride. Her own sense of right and wrong. The same as Charles Hartsman, and yet so vastly different.

Who is to blame? That was the question. And Josie’s heart had found peace in the answer.

Put simply: All of us.

All of us are to blame. For fighting to move on rather than lashing out, for choosing to stand up over and over again after we collapse, for working to heal the broken parts of ourselves so the shards don’t wound the world.

Her belly tightened again, stronger this time, longer, and she suppressed a moan. Yes, this baby girl was coming. She blew out a slow breath, soaking in the final moments when the life inside was only hers. The dwindling hours that their hearts would beat as one.

The screen door squeaked as Zach stepped out onto the porch, handing her a cold glass of tea. He sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It’s time,” she finally told her husband, turning her gaze to his indigo eyes, laughing at his sudden alarm.

It was time to meet the little person who would start their family. A baby girl who would know the deep love of both parents, the indulgent adoration of grandparents, the doting love of an aunt, uncle, and cousins, and hopefully, a life of peace where she felt secure and strong, ready to face all that life threw her way.

Zach helped her stand and then ran inside to grab her bag. Josie smiled, turning toward the lowering sun as she waited. She had lived and breathed so many days and nights for the hope of seeing once again, a wide-open sky, the proof that her long hours of lonely darkness had ended. And now there it was in front of her, stretched just as far as the eye could see.





Acknowledgments


I am filled with gratitude for the many talented and generous people who helped me tell this story.

To my editors, Angela Smith, Marion Archer, and Karen Lawson, thank you for not only making sure my grammar is correct, but for your honesty about storyline weaknesses (and ingenious suggestions for fixes!), for your close attention to detail, and just for being an all-around joy to work with. I truly feel like your goal is to help me tell the best story I can tell, and that is such a gift.

Huge thanks to my amazing team of beta readers: Stephanie Hockersmith, Cat Bracht, JoAnna Koller, Ashley Brinkman, Rachel Morgenthal, and Shauna Waldleitner Rogers. Thank you for offering your precious time, honest opinions, and amazingly helpful comments.

And to Elena Eckmeyer for not only beta reading and providing story-strengthening suggestions, but for your enthusiastic love of this story. And for doing a final read through. Olé! I am so grateful that you wrote a Facebook note to me so many years ago.

To Sharon for your final glance and under time constraints to boot. I can’t expresses how appreciative I am for your never-ending kindness.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Cincinnati Police Homicide Detective Eric Karaguleff. Thank you for continuing to answer your phone and take a million questions regarding the work you do. Your time and graciousness helped me make this story as authentic as possible, and I am grateful.

To Katy for being my go-to person in this sometimes rocky book-writing world. Thank you for the shop talk, the hand holding, and the forever friendship.

To my tribe of author buddies who are a constant source of inspiration, camaraderie, laughter, and support.

Thank you to Kimberly Brower, my agent and friend.

To you, the reader, thank you for listening to the story I had to tell. Thank you for your reviews, and spreading the word about my books. I am so incredibly grateful.

Thank you to Mia’s Mafia—my family of readers, so many of whom have been there since the very beginning.

To all the book bloggers and Instagrammers who spend countless hours not only reading, but putting together heartfelt reviews, and beautiful book art. You are so very appreciated.