The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [161]
My husband is a very smart man. I’m sure he has connected the dots by now. For example, I had fled on Wednesday night from Wayne Reynolds, who was rather conveniently blown to smithereens the same night I returned to my family. Or that my father confessed to killing Aidan Brewster, but never mentioned Wayne. Interesting, if you consider that all the bomb-making materials were discovered in my father’s hotel room.
Of course, anyone can figure out how to make a car bomb in this day and age. All you have to do is search the Internet.
No doubt, this led my husband to connect a few more dots. For example, what would lead Ethan to suddenly track down our computer? Furthermore, why would he risk tampering with said computer in a public area? He certainly wouldn’t care that the hard drive contained enough damning evidence to send Jason to prison for life.
On the other hand, the true significance of several online visits probably became clear in the moments after Ethan learned that his uncle’s car had exploded. His Trojan Horse had shadowed my activities as much as Jason’s, and let’s just say that the full scope of my Wednesday night Internet activities are best not to mention.
I have never spoken to Ethan on the subject. Nor will I. His parents have banned all contact between us, transferring Ethan to a private school. Out of respect for Ethan, I have honored their wishes. He gave me my family back, and for that, I will owe him always.
I know Jason worries about me. I wonder if he gets the irony—that my father murdered bachelor number one to frame my husband, even as I murdered bachelor number two to frame my father. Like father, like daughter? Great minds think alike?
Maybe I have simply learned a valuable lesson from my husband: You can be the hunted or you can be the hunter. Wayne Reynolds threatened my family. After that, his fate was sealed.
I will tell you the truth:
I don’t dream anymore of blood or decaying roses or my mother’s high-pitched giggle. I don’t wake up with the sound of my father’s last words in my ears, or the image of my almost lover disintegrating in a giant fireball. I don’t dream of my parents, or Wayne, or faceless men pounding into my body.
It is summer. My daughter is running through sprinklers in her favorite pink swimsuit. My husband is smiling as he watches her. And I laze in the back hammock, my hand on the gentle curve of my rounded stomach, feeling our newest family member grow.
Once, I was my mother’s daughter. Now, I am my daughter’s mother.
So I sleep well at night, tucked inside my husband’s solid embrace, sound in the knowledge that my daughter is safe in the room next door, with Mr. Smith curled up at her feet. I dream of Ree’s first day of kindergarten. I dream of my newborn baby’s first smile. I dream of dancing with my husband at our fiftieth wedding anniversary.
I am a wife and a mother.
I dream of my family.
| ACKNOWLEDGMENTS AND DEDICATION |
As always, I’m indebted to the countless experts who patiently answered my pestering questions, as well as numerous family and friends who patiently tolerated my writer-like (cranky) ways. These are kind and brilliant people. I just type very fast for a living. Oh yeah, and they are very smart. I, on the other hand, have been known to make mistakes with the information they have tried so hard to drill into me.
First up, Rob Joss, Forensic Evaluator, who educated me on the ways and means of assessing risk factors for sexual predators. He also added the interesting insight that he’d rather evaluate sex offenders for criminal courts than evaluate parents for family court. After all, sex offenders are bad people on their best behavior, while divorcing parents are good people on their worst behavior.
Also, Katie Watkins, Executive Director, and Liz Kelley, Forensic Interviewer, of the Child Advocacy Center of Carroll County. These two women spend 24/7 working the kind of child sexual assault cases that would break mere mortals. The rest of us would like the world to be a better place. They are actively