Where the Blame Lies(93)

“I have an alarm now,” she said. “I’ll be okay. Send officers if you have to, but I need to be by myself.” He looked at her knowingly. She didn’t mean by herself. She’d have officers guard her because her safety was still at risk. What she meant was she needed to be without him.

For now. Just for now.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


Josie stood back, checking that the picture she’d just hung was straight, adjusting it slightly and then standing back again. It looked so strange, the sight of the painting of a flower field where before her board had hung, littered with lists and numbers, and signifying the hope she’d held in her heart for eight long years. The dream that had finally come to fruition. Her son had been found. He was coming to live with her. That board was a relic of the past. She no longer needed it.

She turned, leaving her room and walking to the bedroom next door, the one she’d been working on for two days to set up for Caleb . . . Reed. She had to start thinking of him as Reed.

She’d called Rain and invited her over for a visit, desperate to keep busy, distracted. There was still no news on Reagan, and her heart was breaking. What had started out as a somewhat awkward visit over coffee and cake had quickly and naturally turned into a gab fest—and a bit of a cry fest—and Josie had given her the rundown about what was going on in her life, unbelievable as it was. Rain had seen the story on the news, of course, and though she was shocked, she was also incredibly supportive. Josie was so glad she’d reached out, confided in her, made a new friend. Rain had offered to help with the room, and as they’d worked, she’d told Josie the details of her own life, her recent divorce, how her husband had been physically abusive toward her, how she’d packed up her car, driven to her mother’s, and never looked back. How she, too, was starting over in Oxford.

Rain was the first friend Josie had made in eight long years, and she felt a tension loosen inside her with the newly forged bond. The reminder of how important women are to each other.

Together, they’d removed the more feminine décor items Josie had had in the room . . . the floral paintings, the antique, ceramic pitcher and basin that had been on the dresser. They’d painted the walls a blue gray and replaced the pale pink and green quilt that had covered the bed with one Josie had found in the attic done in blues and whites. It was perfect. Reed had plenty of space to add his own special items.

Josie sat down on the bed, her hand running over the hand-stitched fabric. Her mind drifted to the quilt Marshall . . . no Charlie had thrown in the warehouse cell where she’d given birth, the quilt she’d used to wrap around her newborn infant after she’d first held him.

She clenched her eyes shut, drawing in a shuddery breath. She was alone now, no chatter distracting her from her own thoughts and suddenly, her chest ached. She felt so deeply unsettled and she didn’t know why. She should be overjoyed, shouldn’t she? Here she was, preparing the room where her son would sleep. The ending to her long search that she’d only dared to dream of. It was just nerves, she told herself. It was going to be a difficult adjustment, and she had to be realistic about that. But it would get better. For both her and for Reed. It had to. It had to.

She heard her cell phone and stood quickly, walking back to her bedroom and looking at the number. Unknown. Frowning, she connected the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi Josie, it’s Graham Hornsby.”

Her lawyer. Josie tensed slightly. Was something wrong? Something regarding Reed? “Hi, Mr. Hornsby. Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” he assured her. “Right on track. I met with the Davies earlier.” Josie released a breath. “The reason I’m calling . . . Josie, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but—”

“What?” She sat up straighter, worry thrumming through her once more. “Is Reed okay?”

“Yes, sorry, he’s just fine. He’s at a baseball game. His team is playing against a Cincinnati team. He’s . . . he’s very close to where you are, and I shouldn’t be saying anything at all, but”—he released a long breath—"I have children myself, grandchildren. I can imagine . . .”

Josie blinked. “I can go watch?”

There was a pause. “You can’t let him see you. You have to promise that.”

She shook her head, gripped by excitement. To see her son in person. Not in a still photograph. But in person. Right up close. Her breath caught. “Yes, yes, I promise. I won’t let him see me.”

She heard him exhale into the phone. “I could . . . get in trouble for even mentioning this to you—”

“You won’t, I promise.” She cast her eyes to the side. “I’ll call my friend Rain. I’ll see if she can help me.”

“All right.” Mr. Hornsby sounded so unsure, torn, as though he was second-guessing himself and what he’d just instructed her to do. The sweet, fatherly man who’d gotten tears in his eyes when she’d told him of her search for her baby. The man who’d taken her case pro bono after Zach had referred him to her. Zach. At the thought of him, her stomach trembled. God, she missed him. She missed him so much, and she’d pushed him away. It was necessary, but it still hurt. And God, he would blow a gasket if he knew what she was about to do.

“Which field?” she asked quickly before Mr. Hornsby changed his mind. He told her and then she held the phone tightly to her for a moment as though she were squeezing the older man himself. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you so much.”