A Thief of Nightshade(88)

They brought up the past that night, spoken the full truth of everything that had gone on, and Grant had given them a choice— tell the truth publicly or he would. Brooke hadn’t spoken to him since. It would be six years come November, four of which he’d spent with a coin in his pocket that meant more than all the real money in the world.

And tell the truth he had. It had more than ruined the family name. Too much time had passed to press charges, even had Brooke been willing. But it brought his father into the limelight and in doing so it brought forward victims neither Grant nor his siblings had known about. For some of them, it wasn’t too late.

The fallout, instead of turning them against each other, brought Grant and Harrington even closer. Harry and Sam had started dating at some point during Grant’s seclusion at the cabin, and when everything fell apart, she helped put all the pieces back together. He felt ashamed now of how he’d treated her in the past.

She embodied everything he would have wished for in a friend for Aubrey. At times he found himself just the slightest bit jealous that Harry had woken up and found her first.

“Daddy, look!”

Grant parked the SUV and glanced up at the stained-glass windows of the cabin, lit by the waning light of day.

Breathtaking.

“Oh, the ground is all muddy, Grant,”

Dana groaned.

“Then stay here.” Grant didn’t move his gaze from the windows as he opened the door and got out. He’d thought he had those windowpanes memorized, what with all the hours he’d spent staring at them in his drunken stupor. But he must have missed something because he didn’t fully recognize the one right in front of him.

“Wow, it really looks like her, doesn’t it?” Harry asked. “Did you have that done recently? It’s just like the part John added to the book. Man, that’s something.”

Grant shook his head, taking in the auburn hair and pale complexion. There, in stained glass, was a perfect rendering of Aubrielle and Jullian. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Here, Grant, take these.” Dana, who seemed wholly uninterested by the miraculous appearance of the stained glass, handed him the flowers and book he’d gathered to leave on the dock. The flowers–lilies–had been his sister’s favorite. The book, A Thief of Nightshade, he’d managed

to

get

traditionally

published after Aubrey and Jullian’s estate had been left to him, along with the unfinished manuscript Jullian had been working on before his disappearance.

Grant had hired a ghostwriter, John, to carry the story to completion. He felt it the least he could do to honor the man.

“Did you read it?” Sam asked. “I mean, all of it?” She moved to help Dana with the strap of the car seat in the back.

“Even the new parts?”

“Yes, Samantha, I read it. I did. Not my usual kind of novel, but Jullian...”

Grant cleared his throat in an attempt to settle the emotions he felt rising. “Jullian had a way with words ... Sam, did you have this done?” He motioned to the window.

Sam shook her head. “No, neither of us did. And we all know Dana didn’t.”

Dana frowned, but refrained from remarking.

After a few minutes of silence and gathering everything together, the group moved to the dock. There, Grant walked to the end and kneeled down with the flowers and the book.

“Daddy!”

He turned to see his daughter squirm free of Dana’s hold and run down the planks toward him. He met her halfway and picked her up, tears clouding his vision. “I’m right here, Aubrey.”

“Don’t be sad.” She placed her tiny hands on his cheeks, a huge innocent smile on her face, and it reminded him of when his sister had been that age. He hugged her close, biting his lip to keep from crying and squeezed his eyes shut.

“It’s okay to be sad sometimes, baby,” he whispered.

“But she said it makes her sad, too ...

when you’re sad and when Aunt Sam is sad.”

Grant opened his eyes and watched as Aubrey reached into the pocket of her tiny blue jeans and pulled out a familiar silver dragonfly. “Who does it make sad?

Where did you get that?”

Aubrey pointed one chubby little finger to the stained glass window in the distance. “The lady in the picture. She gave it to me last night.”

Sam had overheard the conversation and walked closer. “Honey, when did you see the lady in the picture?” She took the necklace and looked it over. “Grant, this is hers ... this is really hers. But, it can’t be ... she was buried in it.”

“I told you, Aunt Sam, last night in my bedroom,” the little girl said. “She reads me stories sometimes.”

Grant held Aubrey tighter, tears freely flowing now. Could it be?

“She reads to me out of the book you made.”

Grant pointed to the book and flowers at his feet. “That book?”

She nodded. “She said to tell you thank you and to tell Aunt Sam that everything is okay, but I forgot to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, baby, it’s all right.”

Grant couldn’t wrap his head around it, but as he turned to face the others, he realized that as unreal as it all seemed, he, too, had

felt

Aubrey’s